


The Stars of the Night

by LenoreWells, RedThreat



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Crime, Drugs, Modern AU, Multi, Murder, Mystery, Phantomhive&McMillan Detective Agency, Redo of Arcs, references everywhere, school au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8682730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenoreWells/pseuds/LenoreWells, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedThreat/pseuds/RedThreat
Summary: “There is nothing more ridiculous than living in a country in which an orange-skinned man won an election,” Francis had said, ending the Midfords four-year-long stay in the USA.
  

Three days later, Elizabeth lives in gloomy London, wishing to be back in sunny LA, when a murder case suddenly turns her life upside down, entangling her with Ciel Phantomhive, his duty to the crown, and his school-intern detective agency...


  The Kuroshitsuji manga arcs starting anew in a Modern/School AU!





	1. Eulalie

**Author's Note:**

> This FF is a retelling of the canon manga arcs - only in the 21st century!
> 
> This co-written with my sister, LenoreWells.  
> I (RedThreat) am doing the main story, and my sister does the extras.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy the first chapter!

_I dwelt alone_  
_In a world of moan,_  
_And my soul was a stagnant tide,_  
_Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride-_  
_Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride._  
  
_Ah, less- less bright_  
_The stars of the night_  
_Than the eyes of the radiant girl!_  
_That the vapor can make_  
_With the moon-tints of purple and pearl,_  
_Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curl-_  
_Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless_  
_curl._  
  
_Now Doubt- now Pain_  
_Come never again,_  
_For her soul gives me sigh for sigh,_  
_And all day long_  
_Shines, bright and strong,_  
_Astarte within the sky,_  
_While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye-_  
_While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye._

__

**_―_ _Edgar Allan Poe (1845)_ **

 

 

 


	2. The Land of Hope and Glory

_“ The blood a hero sire hath spent/Still nerves a hero son.”_

– A.C. Benson and Edward Elgar, _Land of Hope and Glory_

* * *

_**THE WHITECHAPEL COPYCAT ARC** _

* * *

 

 

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – November 2016**

 

 

“There is nothing more ridiculous than living in a country in which an orange-skinned man with dreadful hair won an election – and no, I don’t mean Oompa-Loompas, they are decent people,” Francis Midford had said, already packing together their things and thus ending the Midfords four-year-long stay in the USA.

If it had fully gone after Francis’ wishes, Elizabeth Midford would now live in Australia or Canada or perhaps even in a more exotic country, but Alexis Leon, her father, had managed to persuade his wife to go back to England, their old home – Brexit or not. After all, they had spent most of their lives there, were members of the old British gentry, and the history of their families was entangled with the history of the kingdom.

Therefore, Elizabeth was now running through the crowded streets of London, trying not to be late on her first day at her new school, while the stereotypical British rain was falling upon her. It was insane to change schools in the middle of the school year, but there had not been anything she could have done against it. At least, the school year had only started a couple of months ago. But it was still a bothersome procedure – a new school, new teachers, new schoolmates. Elizabeth had been with almost the same people in the middle and high school – but at her new school, the renowned Weston College, she didn’t know anybody besides her brother. She would be the stranger in a pile of already distinct groups.

Even if Elizabeth doubted that everyone at Weston would be a stranger to her.

Terribly wet and wishing that she would be back in Los Angeles, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin rather than the stinging rain, Elizabeth finally arrived in the school’s main building. Its official name was “Pearl Swan,” but everybody called it “Grey House” rather than “White House” because  _ that _  would have been incredibly ridiculous.

Before the 1920s, Weston College had only been open to males. But now, even selected “normal” people – the children of parents who were neither rich nor noble – could attend it. With the change of the school system, the house classification had been abolished, and Weston College had become a day school and wasn’t a boarding school anymore. Now, the former four dormitory houses – Scarlet Fox, Sapphire Owl, Violet Wolf, and Green Lion – inhabited different school subjects: In Green House, P.E. and the sport clubs took place. In Purple House, music, art, drama, and dance was taught. In Red House, the pupils learned languages, manners, and cooking; and Blue House was the home of every other subject.

Still, Weston College mostly allowed rich and noble children to wander through their ancient, historical corridors, and, therefore, the percentage of “normal” pupils was quite low.

Fumbling her timetable out of her magenta leather bag, Elizabeth hurried through the white marmoreal corridors of Grey House.

It was 9.25, and Elizabeth had only five minutes to find out to which house she had to go for her first lesson. (She had already missed both the registration  _ and _  the assembly.) And if she didn’t find her timetable in her bag soon, she would be late because the four old Houses were scattered over the huge campus. She  _ could _  have gone to any ordinary school, but,  _ of course _ , her parents had had to send her to a school whose premises were larger than three or four football fields together. And only because it was a Midford tradition to enrol their children in Weston.

Elizabeth sighed. The timetable seemed to have vanished inside the depths of her lovely bag – and why did she have to oversleep for the first time in her entire life today of all days? (It had only happened because Francis hadn’t been there in the morning for a change. She had been called by her sister-in-law very early in the morning, and Alexis hadn’t realised that it had now been his duty to make sure that both of his children got to school in time.)

If Elizabeth hadn’t overslept, her older brother Edward could have brought her to school, and on the way, she could have calmly searched for her timetable. Everything would have gone smoothly, but, of course, the universe had decided to turn her life into a silly romance novel beginning today – only without the slice of buttered toast in her mouth.

_ Now, I only have to run into a boy for whom I would fall immediately. And I would fall for him in the most disgusting and unrealistic way which was possible. After all, he would be “the great love of my life” and just like every over stupid romance “heroine” I would be strangled by the red thread _ , Elizabeth thought – and promptly collided with someone.

Elizabeth’s bag slipped out of her hands and because the bag was open, most of her belongings flew out of it. She landed on the hard floor and when she looked up she gazed into the eyes – no,  _ eye _ , he was wearing an eye-patch over his right one – of a boy who, she had to admit, was actually quite cute despite the circumstance that he looked a bit feminine. But “him being cute” was not enough to start the magical “falling in love” process. If it had worked, she would have dumbly stared at him, perhaps even drooling onto her clothes and the floor.

_ Thank heavens. _

“Are you all right?” the boy she had collided with asked, standing up before offering her a hand to help her up.

_ Hell – he is even nice! Good that this is still the reality and not a cheesy novel. _

Elizabeth took his hand, and while she rose from the ground, she said: “I am fine. Thanks for asking.” When she was standing in front of the boy to her full height, Elizabeth had to realise that he was a few centimetres shorter than her.

Then, before anybody could say anything, the bell rang.

“Dammit,” Elizabeth cursed silently, quickly collecting her belongings and aggressively throwing them into her bag – and there was her timetable! Lying on the ground beside her chemistry book. She resisted the urge to kick it furiously into the next bin and simply picked up both things before saying goodbye to the boy and running to get to art.

And, of course, Purple House had to be at the other side of the campus which a glimpse at a map told her.

_ Hallelujah. _

  
  


  
  


***

  
  


  
  


Art had been terrible. Elizabeth had been forty minutes late because she had missed the  _ bus _  driving from Grey to Purple House. The school grounds were seriously so large that there were even buses driving between the six main houses. (The buses were colour-coded to make sure everyone – even Elizabeth – could figure out where they headed.) Her art teacher, Miss Julia Fray, had not been very amused of the fact that her new student had missed so much of her lesson, and Elizabeth’s new classmates had stared at her as if she was an alien. (As if they had never been late themselves.) That she had been still soaked in rain hadn’t helped much.

Now, fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth left Purple House and got into a bus which should bring her to Red House for English Literature.

_ I just want to go home _ , she thought while hugging her magenta bag.  _ I want to go back to Los Angeles. Trump or not. I want to go back to my normal daily life full of sunlight, not-being late, and Red Velvet Oreos. _

After Elizabeth had dropped out and entered Red House, she had to face another problem: Where was the English Literature Room? There wasn’t any room number on her timetable, and there were too many people walking around for her to see any signs or maps. Elizabeth already accepted the fact that she would be late again – and then, she saw a brown-haired girl who had also been with her in art.

_ I guess, she must have Literature now too... right? _

Elizabeth fought her way to the girl and tapped her on the shoulder. Immediately, she started to scream and whirled around, her eyes wide.

“Hi,” Elizabeth greeted her with a smile. “I am Elizabeth Midford. Do you know by chance where Miss Lucie Doyle’s class is?”

After the girl had stared at her for a couple of seconds, she nodded and visibly relaxed. “Hello. I am Paula Sergeant. I also have Literature now – just follow me.”

  
  


  
  


Lucie Doyle, a woman with a friendliness shining in her pale blue eyes, approached Paula and Elizabeth when they entered her classroom on time.

She extended a hand to Elizabeth. “You must be Elizabeth Midford. I am Miss Doyle – your Form Tutor and English Literature and Language teacher. I missed you during the registration.”

With an awkward smile, Elizabeth shook Miss Doyle’s hand. “I am terribly sorry, Miss. I overslept this morning and was completely overstrained with the school’s layout.”

“That’s all right,” Miss Doyle meant, smiling at her. “It’s your first day at Weston College after all. Also, you came to London only a few days ago. That must have been very stressful.”

Actually, the Midfords had arrived in London  _ yesterday _ . That’s how fast their moving had gone. Three days ago, Francis had decided to leave Los Angeles, and now there were here: around eleven hours and almost 9000 kilometres away.

English Literature went better than art – after all, Elizabeth hadn’t been late this time –, but she had to realise that, to her misfortune, they were doing something entirely different than what she had done in America a few days ago.

Clearly, it wouldn’t be funny to rework everything.

_ And again – hallelujah. Thanks for everything, stupid election. Thanks, Donald Trump’s hairdresser. _

  
  


  
  


***

  
  


  
  


Paula showed Elizabeth around during the break between 11.35 and 12.00 after they had spent half of English Literature exchanging notes. Paula introduced her to some of their schoolmates – shy Joanne Harcourt (He was a  _ boy _ ! Was every boy in this school feminine looking? Elizabeth had to take notes.), dashing Irene Diaz, the star of the Drama Club, and Grimsby Keane, her boyfriend (Okay, not  _ everyone _ .) – and pointed at the Student Council when they passed by. Edgar Redmond, Gregory Violet, Lawrence Bluewer, and Herman Greenhill didn’t only have stu...  _ interesting _  names but also attended Onyx Raven, the university part of Weston which had been created during the school’s reformation in the 1920s. (The name “Onyx Raven” sounded like the title of a  _ Pokémon _  game, with its counterpart being “Pearl Swan.”) Paula told Elizabeth that always four of the university students formed the Inner Core of the Student Council for the entire institute. The Inner Core members were called “Council 4” or “C4” for short. Then, there were also their deputies and assistants – Cheslock, Maurice Cole, and Clayton – who belonged to the Intermediate Core. The Outer Core consisted of two pupils of each school year. For Year 10, it were Irene and Justus Siemens.

Also, Elizabeth told Paula about Los Angeles: How her family had moved there in 2012. How they had originally planned to stay only for a year, but fell in love with the city and stayed three more years until the next election which had been nothing but a total train-wreck. A ridiculous match between pest and cholera, Dolores Umbridge and Joffrey Baratheon,  _ Twilight _  and  _ Fifty Shades of Grey _ . No matter what you chose, you would always get something utterly horrible.

Elizabeth looked around to find out if Edward was somewhere, but she couldn’t see him, and then, the break was already over.

She trudged through a lesson of Chemistry (The teacher was seriously named  _ Merlin Morgan _ . As if he was a book character) and P.E. (It was quite boring to not being able to participate, but her P.E. clothes were still in one of the million boxes filling their villa like furniture) until Lunch Break finally began.

Paula and Elizabeth went to the cafeteria which adjoined Grey House. Elizabeth hammered her head against the table in frustration, and Paula tried to calm her down. But there was nothing to calm her down.

During P.E. Elizabeth had gone through her bag and noticed that her diary was gone.  _ Her diary _ .

She was none of these girls who carried their diaries everywhere – even to the toilet. The only reason why Elizabeth had brought her diary to school today was because she had put it into her bag for the flight. And because she had been in a hurry this morning, she hadn’t been able to remove it. And now, it was gone, and she had no idea where it could be. Perhaps, she had lost it on her run to school or somewhere on the school grounds – she didn’t know. Actually, Elizabeth preferred her diary to have gone lost in the rain somewhere in the streets of London over a schoolmate having found and now  _ reading _  it. She wasn’t a person who poured all her heart into a simple notebook, but she would still die of embarrassment if someone read it. And today was her first day at the new school.

_ I think, things couldn’t go worse now. I was already at the absolute zero point. _

“I am certain that you will find your diary, Lizzy,” Paula said. Elizabeth had offered her one period ago to call her “Lizzy.” At home and in Los Angeles, everyone called her “Lizzy.” It was weird to be called “Elizabeth” all day long.

Elizabeth stopped hammering her head against the table and looked up. “Paula – I am  _ fine _ . Stop talking about it.”

“But you are definitely  _not_  fine,” Paula replied. “You were hitting the table with your head.”

“I am fine  _now_. I stopped doing it, so I am fine.”

Her new friend sighed. “Whatever you say, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth let her gaze wander through the cafeteria, searching again for her brother. But then, her gaze froze at the entrance door – no other than Cute Shortie into whom she had run into earlier was standing there and talking to a boy with funny reddish brown hair and round glasses. Paula followed Elizabeth’s gaze and tilted her head.

“They are Ciel Phantomhive and McMillan,” she told Elizabeth. “They belong to the ‘McMillan & Phantomhive Detective Agency – Chocolate for Investigating.’”

Elizabeth frowned. “Detective Agency?”

Paula nodded. “You can go there if one of your things is missing or anything like that, and they solve your case in exchange of sweets. The one with the eye-patch is Ciel, the detective and the agency’s leader. McMillan is his secretary and assistant.”

“Why do you keep calling him by his surname?”

Paula simply shrugged. “Everyone calls McMillan McMillan. I don’t think anybody actually knows his first name. Not even the teachers.”

“O-,” Elizabeth started to say before cutting herself off when she saw Ciel noticing  _and_  approaching her.

_ Don’t tell me the “Red String Strangle Magic” had worked on  _ him _. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no... _

“You lost this earlier,” Ciel Phantomhive said to Elizabeth when he stood in front of hers and Paula’s table, handing her a blue velvet notebook with a soft Victorian pattern on it –  _her diary_.

_ Okay – I have been wrong. I have just fallen  _ beyond _  the absolute zero point. _

_ Cute Shortie – I mean,  _ Ciel Phantomhive _  – has read my diary. He. Has. Read. My.  _ Diary _. Hopefully, he just wanted to have my entire stock of Red Velvet Oreos which I had brought over from America and didn’t go around telling everyone about my diary’s contents. _

_ I don’t pour my heart into it. Usually. But I did it  _ once _. On my darkest of days. And this entry contains my biggest secret nobody could ever know. And now, Cu-  _ Ciel Phantomhive _  did, and who knows who would know about it soon? Or did already know? _

_ Perhaps, I should give him the Oreos I have in my bag. _

Wordlessly, Elizabeth took the diary. Ciel also didn’t say anything anymore and just went back to McMillan.

“Lizzy!” Paula exclaimed, blinking at the blue notebook. “Is this your lost diary?”

Like she had been mesmerised (Like there was a fairy sitting invisibly on her diary and looking into her unprotected eyes!), Elizabeth stared at her diary and slowly nodded.

“Yey! You have it back, isn’t it great? But why are you looking like the Earl has given you ectoplasm?”

_ I wouldn’t have this expression on my face if he gave me ectoplasm – ectoplasm was awesome. _

Elizabeth’s confusion was strong enough to make her forget that her life was probably over _  now _  – and that after only fourteen years! She looked up and frowned at Paula. “‘The Earl’?”

Paula frowned back. “Uh... Ciel Phantomhive? The Earl of Phantomhive? The boy who came to our table a few minutes ago? Dark hair? A deep blue eye? Eye-patch?”

“‘Earl of  _Phantomhive_ ’?” Elizabeth said, her eyes widening. “Do you mean that he already holds his family’s title? That he isn’t just, for example, the son of a Duke who was granted an extra title to his title of a Lord? That he is already the  _head of his family_?”

_ Oh, God – I am the daughter of a Marquess and thus hold the title of a Lady. Cute Shortie, however, has already inherited his family’s “main” title – and the position as the family head – despite being in my age or perhaps even one or two years younger (probably not older, he is so short). _

_ That he is holding this title means that his predecessor – most likely his father – is already dead. _

“Uh... yes? He inherited the title after his parents’ death,” Paula told Elizabeth who could only stare at her with an open mouth. (Terribly unladylike, but then, they weren’t in the 19th century.)

Both _  his parents are dead?! I think I would die if Mum and Dad suddenly passed away in the foreseeable future. I couldn’t imagine living without parents at my age even though I know that there are far too many children in the world who have to live like that. _

“Didn’t you know about it?” Paula asked, still frowning. “It was all over the news three years ago. ‘Head of the Funtom Corporation and Family Die In a Mysterious Fire.’ ‘Earl Phantomhive Son’s Ashes Not Found.’ ‘Who Burned Down Phantomhive Manor?’ ‘What Happened to the Company’s Heir?’ ‘Phantomhive Arsonist Still On the Loose.’ ‘Ciel Phantomhive’s Miraculous Return!’ ‘Where Had Ciel Been?’” she recited some of the news’ headlines. “The news about the fire was  _everywhere_. For seemingly endless weeks, it flooded everything – the newspapers, the internet, the television... Everyone talked about it. Everyone wondered what happened to the missing ten-year-old boy. Groups of people searched for Ciel for weeks – until he magically returned. After his return, he was labelled ‘England’s saddest boy.’ Now, everyone is wondering where he had been and what had happened on the day of the fire.”

“Do they know it now? I mean, three years have passed after all.” Elizabeth had turned pale. This was even worse than she had imagined.

Paula shook her head. “No. Ciel refuses to talk about these topics, and his aunt does everything she can to ensure that the media does not harass him so that her nephew can live without having to fear that reporters jump out of every bush he passes by. There’s also a distant relative who leads Funtom Corporation until Ciel is old enough to do it on his own. He lost everything else on December 14, 2013 – his tenth birthday.”

_ OH.  _ GOD _. _

“It happened on his  _birthday_?!” Elizabeth yelled and quite a lot of people turned around to her. She ignored them.

Paula nodded with a sad expression on her face. “Yes. That’s why they are calling him ‘England’s saddest boy.’”

_ To hell – I doubt that THIS BOY could ever, ever read someone else’s diary, or at least, tell everyone about its contents. _

_ First of all, he didn’t know me, and thus he had no reason to do anything like that to me. I didn’t go and punch him in the face today or anything like that after all. _

_ Also, telling the world about someone else’s diary would not only draw attention to the diary’s owner but to the whistleblower too. And Ciel Phantomhive is DEFINITELY not a person who wants to draw a lot of attention to himself. _

_ And the most definite argument: If he had seriously wanted to mortify me, he would not have given me back my diary. Of course, he could have made photos of the pages, but wasn’t keeping the diary more vicious? Also, Ciel didn’t seem evil or plotting or anything like that to me. He just seemed like a nice boy who wanted to give something he had found to its rightful owner. _

_ I simply overreacted. _

Elizabeth sighed in relief.

_ I am saved! My life isn’t over yet! _

“I am going to get myself something to eat,” Elizabeth told Paula and stood up. “Should I get you something too?”

Paula shook her head and got out a lovingly filled lunch box. Just before Elizabeth walked to the food counter, she looked back to the cafeteria’s entrance – but McMillan and Ciel were already gone.

  
  


  
  


***

  
  


  
  


_ There is only one thing I was looking forward too when Mum announced that we would move. _

With a wide smile on her face, Elizabeth ran all the way back to Midford Villa after the school had ended.

Alexis Leon Midford had brought the villa – a dream of black and white with five floors (counting the attic), one basement, three garages, and a huge garden with a pond – in 1997 after marrying Francis. Since then, the beautiful Victorian villa in Mayfair belonged to the Midford family. This did not change when they moved to the States – a convenient circumstance, considering their rushed return to England.

Elizabeth hurried through the enormous, brilliantly shining white entrance hall and up the red-carpeted stairs to get to her room. The new servants (their old ones had refused to leave America; Francis didn’t mind as she had been able to get new ones in no time) were running around like busy bees and packing out the many, many moving boxes. If they had also sounded like bees, a terrible noise would have gone through the villa and a policeman would be standing on the door because he had been called due to “breach of the peace.” Luckily, the servants did not make the annoying sound of bees while working. Getting into a fight with your new neighbours on your first day was never a good thing.

Elizabeth closed the door behind her and quickly exchanged the white and black school uniform with a pale orange knitted jumper, thick tights in pale rosé, and a black skirt. Elizabeth threw her school and exercise books out of her bag before grabbing the bag, her velvet coat which had a lovely, warm brown colour, her black boots and left her room again, putting on the coat and bag. She jumped around while putting on the boots when she passed by her father’s study.

“I am going out!” Elizabeth announced through the study’s opened door while getting into her left boot.

Alexis looked up from the newspapers he had been reading and frowned. “Didn’t you just come back, Lizzy? Can’t you eat something first?”

“I ate at school!” she yelled and hurried downstairs. She was out of the door before Alexis could reply anything.

  
  


  
  


When the Midfords had moved to Los Angeles, Elizabeth had been ten years old and too young to explore the city on her own. Now, back and fourteen, she was finally able to walk through the stunning streets of London all on her own.

_ I couldn’t await to meet London’s atmosphere, its life, in a new way – as a person different to the one who had left it all these years ago. _

Elizabeth walked through Grosvenor Street before turning right into Bond Street before entering Burlington Gardens and some other streets – and twenty minutes later, she was standing in front of M&M’s World, every child’s biggest dream. It was the world’s largest candy store at 3250cm² – and Elizabeth was so happy to stand in front of it because there were only a handful of these stores existing in the world, and none in Los Angeles.

Just like A.C. Benson had said, England was really “the land of hope and glory.” Hope for almost infinite sweets. Glory for dentists.

How could she have lived in London for ten years without ever going here before?

Happily, Elizabeth entered Hea...  _ M&M’s World _ , only to come out hours later with far too many sweets in her almost exploding bag. But actually, that wasn’t true: You could never have too many sweets. Just like you can never have enough sweets.

_ Perhaps, I should share some of my sweets with Cute Shortie. He may have enough money to buy M&M’s World (I quickly googled “Funtom Corporation” on my way to the candy store – he is truly one hell of a rich kid), but the gesture of someone giving him sweets out of nothing would certainly, hopefully, make him happy. At least, for a short amount of time. _

_ Also, I have falsely accused him of being an arsehole who goes around and tells the contents of someone else’s diary. Cute Shortie may not know anything about it – I did it in my mind after all –, but I still feel that I owe him something as an apology. _

It was already past seven o’clock (and because it was November, it was quite dark despite the glowing shop lights) and tomorrow was school, and perhaps,  _ perhaps _ , Elizabeth should go home now..., but she had even resisted the urge to go into the  _ Nickelodeon Store right next to M&M’s World _ ... (Who had come up with that???) ... and she had always wanted to eat one of these famous Rainbow Bagels...

Before she knew what was happening, Elizabeth found herself on a Piccadilly Line train. She got out in Holborn and took the Central Line (The train was suffocatingly full!) to Liverpool Street. Fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth stood in front of Beigel Shop, Brick Lane. Would she walk down the Brick Lane, she would eventually arrive at Aladin – the restaurant serving London’s best curry. Even His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, had eaten there.

She would go there on another day. The temptation was big, though.

Elizabeth entered Beigel Shop (It was a 24/7 shop! Rainbow Bagels all day long forever!) and ordered twenty Rainbow Bagels. They were just the right things to buy on such a grey day. Also, she was certain that even Francis would like them.

_ Alternatively to the sweets, I could give Cute Shortie one of the bagels – but first, let’s see if Edward and Dad don’t eat all of them immediately. _

With a bag full of warm bagels, Elizabeth walked through various side streets to get back to Liverpool Station. Of course, she could have gone back the same way she had come – but her city exploration trip had only consisted of two stops today (Damn you, amazingness of M&M’s World for stealing time like teeth!), and Elizabeth wanted to have something of a little “adventure” to make her trip less lame. Good that she had her smartphone with her. Good that she was not afraid of the dark.

And then, right before entering the quietest side street of them all, she saw something terrible on its other end.

Elizabeth Midford, fourteen-years-old, with M&Ms and plushies in her magenta leather bag and a bag full of Rainbow Bagels in her hand, stared at the scene in front of her – and watched a figure clad in black brutally stabbing an already unmoving body.

 

 


	3. The Land of Horror and Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter.  
> Hope you'll enjoy it! :D

“ _We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.”_

― Stephen King

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom – November 2016**

 

 

“I see... In any case, I have no intention of fighting you, Mr Butler... I yield. But you know...,” Azzurro Vanel said while grabbing Ciel Phantomhive by his hair and pulling him into his arms before he held a gun to his head. “I'll be taking those goods you managed you get.”

It was Monday morning – and no, Ciel Phantomhive usually did not spend his Monday mornings bleeding and hurt in the arms of a madman who pressed a gun against his temple. Not that this had never happened before – just not on a Monday morning.

In what kind of world were they living where madmen ignored the fact that you should not kidnap anyone before midday? Especially thirteen-year-old children who had to go to school on Mondays?

“You wouldn't want your cute master to have breathing holes in his head, would you?” Azzurro Vanel, Italian mafia boss, traitor, and madman who did not know that you were not supposed to kidnap anyone on Monday mornings, said. Mondays were already worse enough without a kidnapping. Particularly the mornings when you were fully confronted with the fact that the weekend was in the past now, and you had to go out and socialise again.

Ciel almost shuddered at the thought of _socialising_.

“If you're really a butler, then you know what you should do.”

“The thing you gentlemen are looking for is right-” Sebastian Michaelis, manservant, Phantomhive family butler with a secret, calmly replied. The moment he put his hand into his pocket to get out the item Azzurro wanted, he was shot in the head. A second later, Sebastian was shot a dozen times again.

And no – that Ciel Phantomhive's butler got shot was also not something which often happened.

“Did... we get him?” Azzurro's henchmen asked their boss from behind the perforated painting which had hidden them earlier.

_No. You have just turned him into a piece of Swiss cheese – but no, you didn't get him_ , Ciel thought.

“... Hahaha,” Azzurro chuckled. It sounded horrible. “Sorry, Romeo... but I'm the winner of this game!!”

_That's what you call a Large Ham_ , crossed Ciel's mind right before Azzurro pulled him by his hair again to force him to look into his ugly face. Now, the Mafioso was pressing his gun against Ciel's chin. “And right when he'd finally come for you... too bad, huh? Little Phantomhive. If you're up against the Phantomhives, the Queen's Watchdogs, then even I'll keep an ace up my sleeve.”

For centuries, the Phantomhive family served the Royal family as Watchdogs who guarded the Underworld. And when Ciel's parents had died three years ago, the family duty had been passed to him.

Normal citizens didn't know about this. For them, the Phantomhives were rich entrepreneurs and Ciel nothing but a poor, poor child who had lost his family in tragedy.

But in reality, the Phantomhives had been murderers all the time – shadow detectives and silent killers, executing every one of the ruler's wishes.

Therefore, you could say that Ciel Phantomhive was definitely _not_ a nice boy. He was the most calculating and manipulative evil boy of this century – not counting fictional Artemis Fowl.

“All that's left is to kill you,” Azzurro said to Ciel, grinning, “and it'll be perfect. You've been in the way for a long time now, always watching us like the police. Eh? We'll erase you... and bring change to England through our own methods.”

_I am better than the police. Don't compare me to these incompetent fools._

Azzurro pulled away Ciel's eye-patch with the gun barrel and continued to talk. Ciel did not even bother to listen to his words anymore.

_This man is a master in wasting time. I need to be in school in twenty minutes._

_I guess, I should call out for Sebastian now._

“Hey,” Ciel said aloud. “How long are you going to play around for? I wouldn't have thought that that was such a nice place to sleep. Just how long are you going to play dead like a racoon? I am going to be late for school.”

With a chuckle, Sebastian Michaelis – manservant, butler, dead just a minute ago – sat up. “The efficiency of guns has been going up recently. It's a big difference to one hundred years ago.”

Azzurro Vanel, crying like a child who had seen a ghost, started yelling to his henchmen to kill Sebastian.

_Idiot. Can't even figure out that you couldn't kill Sebastian._

Without much effort, Sebastian killed Azzurro's men with their own bullets which he had earlier retrieved from his own body.

_What a show-off._

“Ah... What a mess,” Sebastian sighed, looking at his damaged clothes. “My clothes have become ruined.”

“It's because you were playing around, you idiot,” his master replied.

The butler Sebastian Michaelis' secret was that he was not a real butler. Or a manservant. Or even a man.

“Sebastian Michaelis” was the name Ciel Phantomhive had given to the demon he had made a contract with three years ago.

If Ciel were to tell the boulevard press what he had been doing in his month of absolute absence, they would definitely not believe him. But when “accidentally summoning a demon” was the truth what else could you do but to stay silent?

 

 

***

 

 

After Sebastian had stopped to play dead, everything had gone faster – but not fast enough. And now, it was 9.25, and Ciel had missed the registration and assembly. Hopefully, nobody noticed the quickly covered cuts and bruises on his face.

_Incompetent idiot. The cake today has to be especially good to make up for this._

Ciel had just wanted to leave Grey House and take a bus to Red House for French when someone walked right into him. He fell down on his buttocks and when he looked up, Ciel saw a girl with blonde curly twin-tails. She was surrounded by the content of her magenta bag.

The girl gazed up – and stared at him with her shining green eyes.

_If she recognises me and begins to pity me with empty words, I will burn down the boulevard press for real this time._

But the girl did not say anything – she just stared at him, her eyes not reflecting recognition or pity but surprise... and a little bit of disgust?

_Well,_ that _is weird._

“Are you all right?” Ciel politely asked the girl, stood up, and offered her a hand.

She took his hand without hesitation and answered: “I am fine. Thanks for asking.”

_Hm... could it be that she does not know me? That she knows nothing about the fire? Strange... it was all over the news three years ago..._ Everybody _knows about it._

_But when I come to think about it – I have never seen her here before._

The bell rang, and the girl cursed right afterwards before she collected her things and put them back into her bag. She threw her books so violently into her backpack that Ciel feared that it could fall apart and she would start cursing uncontrollably.

“Goodbye!” the girl quickly said to him before crumbling her timetable in her hand and running away.

_Yes, goodbye to you too._

Ciel was about to head to French when he saw something blue which was reflecting the white corridor light on the ground. He frowned and approached it. The blue something turned out to be a beautiful notebook. He picked it up and thumbed through it, but as soon as he saw the words “Dear Diary...” on one of the pages, he closed it. Ciel Phantomhive might be the ruthless Watchdog of the Queen but he was certainly not someone who read the diaries of others. Especially the diaries of people he did not even know.

_It must belong to Green Eyes. The contents of her bag were scattered all over the corridor after our collision after all._

Ciel put the diary into his bag before leaving Grey House. He would surely meet the girl again – and then, he could return the notebook to her.

 

 

***

 

 

“Hello,” McMillan greeted Ciel when he entered the physics room at 10.34.

Two years ago, McMillan had been late on his very first day of school, and the only free seat had been next to Ciel. Not that this event had turned them into friends – it had just been a coincidence.

McMillan had actually begun to try being Ciel's friend after Alethea Wordsmith's rabbit Conan had vanished, and Ciel had deducted in a couple of minutes that Viola Fleming had stolen it as she held a weird obsession for rabbits and her mother had just forbidden her any contact with these adorable animals. Viola had been sent to an asylum, Alethea had got back her beloved pet, and McMillan had started to persuade Ciel to open a detective agency at their new school.

He had eventually succeeded, and the “Phantomhive & McMillan Detective Agency – Chocolate for Investigating” had been founded. And after a while, Ciel had even – to his own surprise – accepted McMillan as his friend. On a peculiar December day when Ciel had watched the snow falling down in front of his office window, he had caught himself thinking _“I could call McMillan and ask him if he wants to build a snowman.”_

Ciel had laid in his bed for the rest of the day, but, eventually, he had stopped to struggle against the _fact_ – a really, _really_ , strange fact – that, deep down, he considered McMillan as his friend – a circumstance which had been caused by the remnants of his childish thoughts, Ciel told himself. From that day on, Ciel became the only person to call McMillan by his first name – except his parents and siblings.

_But I cannot get too attached to this “friendship” and this “normal life.” After all, it is not going to last for long._

“Hello,” Ciel replied and sat down on his chair next to McMillan's.

“How was your weekend?” he asked.

“Not out of the ordinary,” Ciel answered, and McMillan started to tell him about his weekend. “I helped my father at the library, and my mother is in the middle of an interesting case. Also...”

He talked and talked until the bell rang, and Kaizuka Taiji, their physics teacher, started the lesson.

 

 

***

 

 

Ciel saw the green-eyed girl again in the cafeteria during Lunch Break while he spoke to McMillan. The girl had been talking to Paula Sergeant and was now staring at him across the cafeteria. Paula followed the other girl's gaze and tilted her head before saying something to her.

_I can give the diary back to her now_ , Ciel thought and excused himself to McMillan before walking towards the girls' table who were still deep in talk.

“You lost this earlier,” Ciel said to the girl after he had arrived at their table and took out her diary. He handed it to her and, at first, the girl just stared at him as if he was a ghost or had vomit in his hair.

_Green Eyes is quite weird. Always staring at me._

_Hm... wait. What if I_ really _have something in my hair? Or if one of my cuts or bruises are visible? I need to check that later._

Then, without saying anything, the girl took the notebook. And because she had not said anything, Ciel simply frowned and wordlessly returned to McMillan.

“What did you do?” his friend wanted to know.

“I collided with her earlier today,” Ciel explained. “She lost something due to the collision. I found it and gave it back to her.”

McMillan nodded in appreciation before he resumed their conversation from earlier. “Nuala likes Marinette the most.” Nuala was McMillan's younger sister and a big fan of _Miraculous Ladybug_. One day, when Ciel had been visiting McMillan she had forced them to sit and marathon the entire first season. It had been a dreadful experience. This show was too sparkly and too light and good for Ciel's taste. He especially hated Hawk Moth, the TV show's idiotic villain, and the fact that Ladybug had the ability to undo the damage caused by the akumatised people. The world wasn't as simple and easy as it was shown in _Miraculous Ladybug_.

_You cannot just turn everything like it has once been with the help of magical ladybugs._

Ciel sighed. “ _Of course_ , she likes Marinette. She is the _protagonist_ after all. The protagonist, as long as he or she is not a complete idiot, is always one of the top three most liked characters of its source material.”

McMillan shrugged. “She's five. So, do you think a Ladybug doll would be a good present for her?”

Nuala and Niall ‒ McMillan's twin siblings – would turn six next week, and while McMillan knew what he could get his brother, he was a bit clueless when it came to finding a suitable gift for his sister.

“Are there any _Miraculous Ladybug_ toys?”

“I have absolutely no clue. No – wait. I do. _Toys_ _‘_ _R_ _’_ _Us_ has some. They look terribly ugly, though. I cannot give my sister a toy which could give her nightmares.”

McMillan was the sort of person who always found something good in everything and everyone. This was most likely the reason why they had become friends in the first place. So, if he thought that something was hideous, it was indeed hideous.

“What about a t-shirt or some other piece of clothes? There are band t-shirts, so why shouldn't there be any children TV series t-shirts?”

“I looked that up already.” McMillan sighed. “They look even worse than the toys. Mostly, just the Ladybug and Cat Noir symbols were put on a plain t-shirt, dress, or jumper. The guys who make these things are awfully fanciless.”

“What about fan-made things, then?” Ciel suggested. “They tend to be better than the official things.”

“Hm – that's a good idea! I will search for something after school. Thanks, Ciel.”

“You're welcome.”

“It happened on his _birthday_?!” somebody suddenly screamed through the entire cafeteria. Ciel flinched. He whirled around to find the voice's source – which turned out to be the green-eyed girl. People looked at her before they turned their attention to _Ciel_.

_Dammit. That's why I usually don't go to the cafeteria._

Ciel Phantomhive usually spent his breaks in the office of his school-intern detective agency. But today, he had gone to the cafeteria because he had had to find the girl and return her diary.

_Damn you, Paula Sergeant. I preferred it when Green Eyes knew nothing about this. Then, there would have been two pupils in this goddamn school who would not bother me with this topic._

Ciel quickly left the canteen before anybody could come and talk to him. McMillan silently followed him.

_I am not someone who would turn into a cry-baby because of that. I am just tired of answering the same questions over and over again._

_No, I won't tell you where I was in that one month._

_No, I have no clue who burned down Phantomhive Manor and murdered my parents._

_But I am working on it._

 

 

***

 

 

After a period of biology by Caspian Darwin, McMillan and Ciel walked home together. Finnian MacCoul, who was officially the son of Ciel's gardener, but who was actually Ciel's gardener himself, still had German classes and thus couldn't accompany them.

Ciel and McMillan said goodbye to each other when they arrived at the Phantomhive townhouse, and Ciel waved after his friend while McMillan walked down the road.

“Welcome back, Young Master,” Sebastian greeted Ciel, opening the door. Ciel glared at him. “I hope the cake is already ready, Sebastian.”

“Of course, it is, Young Master,” Sebastian replied. “I will serve it as a dessert after lunch.”

“ _No_. The cake will be my lunch. And don't argue with me – I deserve this after you fooled around too long this morning and let me be late for school.”

 

 

“A letter from the Queen arrived before you returned from school,” Sebastian told his master and handed him the letter on a silver tray. Ciel had just finished eating his lunch charlotte russe.

“If it was already here when I came back – why didn't you give it to me then?” Ciel asked, taking the envelope.

“I thought that you might want to eat first.”

Ciel ignored Sebastian's reply and opened the letter. It said: _“My dear boy_ _–_ _in 1888, a person who was called Jack the Ripper murdered people, mostly female prostitutes, in Whitechapel, London. Their identity was never unveiled, and thus Jack the Ripper became one of the most famous serial killers in history. But you may already know about that._

“ _Lately, similar murders have been committed, and again, they have occurred in Whitechapel. Scotland Yard is working on this case, but they are as clueless as Frederick Abberline back in the late 19th century. Therefore, I removed them from this case and put you in charge of continuing and solving it. I have already informed the police about this transfer.”_

_A second Whitechapel Murderer?_ Ciel thought and put down the letter. At least, this was more exciting than searching for cats or looking into supposed beauty contest frauds. Or idiotic Italian mafiosi.

 


	4. The Phantom Protector of Great Britain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that I was not able to update this story sooner!
> 
> A lot of things happened in the last months, I had a lot to do and not much time to write. And when I finally managed to write two chapters, LenoreWells was not very happy about them - and, to be honest, me too. They were forced and terrible so I had to start anew - which took very long. Now, despite it not being perfect, I will finally upload this (damned) chapter. And I hope you will like it anyway.

_“Wherever this shadowed path might lead, we were both irrevocably committed to follow it to the end.”_  
― Susan Kay,  _Phantom_

* * *

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – November 2016**

 

 

She did not know when she had started to run.

A second ago, Elizabeth had witnessed a murder, and now, her feet were carrying her as far away from the crime scene as possible. And while she ran, records of what she had seen found their ways back to her mind.

The metallic smell of blood.

The murderer, stabbing and stabbing their victim even though they were long dead.

The victim’s muffled, dying screams.

_There is no way that I will ever forget them_ , Elizabeth thought while running and running and cursing her bag with the chocolates and her bag with the bagels for not allowing her to run faster.

Eventually, despite the adrenaline pushing her body to go farther, her lungs started to burn so badly that she could only stop. Elizabeth collapsed against the wall of a building, trying to catch her breath. She had no clue where she was. She had no clue if the murderer had seen her or not. What if she had started to run without checking that first? What if they had noticed her running away and went after her?

The thought turned her blood to ice.

_No_ , a voice in her head suddenly said – the voice belonging to the part of her head which was still sane despite everything. _Someone was killed. There is a killer on the loose. You have to go to the police. You need to report this. Staying here will only decrease your chance of surviving if the murderer really followed you. You will be safe with the police._

Elizabeth pulled herself away from the wall, her legs feeling wobbly. Because her hands were shaking and she was still holding the bag with the bagels, taking out her phone proved quite difficult. If leaving the bagels wouldn’t make it easier for the killer to track her, she would have thrown the bag away ages ago. When Elizabeth had finally managed to get her mobile, she tried to dial the police’s number, but stopped herself right before clicking on “call.” What if her voice was too shaky? What if the person on the other side of the line couldn’t understand her? Was making a phone call in an unknown place while possibly being followed by a killer the best idea?

_No, not here, definitely not here_ , her rational part said and forced her run farther to a more crowded place and into some shop.

After Elizabeth had walked through the entire shop a few times while calming herself down, she looked up the location of the closest police station.

_It is only a few minutes away. Thank God, it is only a few minutes away._

And these few minutes gave her new strength to make her feet move.

 

 

***

 

 

The police station was awfully ugly. “Police” was written in capital letters over the entrance of the grey building, and a lonely London flag was fluttering miserably in the wind. 

Elizabeth took a deep breath before entering the police station.

“Good evening, how can I help ya?” the policeman in charge said, looking up from what looked like a comic, and frowned. “Isn’t it a bit late for you to walk around on a school day?”

Elizabeth glimpsed at a clock and saw that it was a little after ten o’clock. When had it got so late? She had no idea.

“I,” she began, her voice hoarse and her throat dry. “I...”

“Stop stuttering, kid, and tell me what the matter is. Lost your parents? Someone stole your lolly?”

“There was a murder somewhere around here,” Elizabeth managed to say, falling into a nearby chair.

The policeman’s eyes widened. “Woah, woah, girl! You’ve seen a murder?”

Elizabeth nodded faintly. Her mind was drifting away to the crime scene, but she blinked away the image of the street painted red. _Focus_. “Yes. In... in Whitechapel, around Brick Lane.”

The policeman raised an eyebrow and put his hands under the counter. It was a strange movement. It had been meant to be subtle, but Elizabeth’s clouded brain still managed to catch it. She tried to analyse what he was doing, but, somehow, she did not manage to grab a clear thought.

“And you are not lying to me? Kids like you come to me all the time to prank me. Not cool. _Absolutely_ not cool. They always prank me because they believe that Detective Inspector Marty Card is an easy victim. Can you imagine that? Can you believe that? Kids nowadays are all idiots. I am not the idiot here. Definitely not.” The policeman, Marty Card, took out a piece of paper before frowning at her. “You are _not_ kidding me, right? Joking about murder is bad. Joking about such a murder is even worse. False information could cost me my job. Perhaps even my head. I cling to my head. I think it’s a nice head, not particularly pretty, but still nice. Has a nice shape, don’t you think?”

With her head feeling heavy, Elizabeth barely managed to nod at Marty’s words. In the alley, this one voice in her head had told her that she would feel safe with the police. But, for some reason, she did not feel secure at all. Elizabeth grabbed the rim of her skirt. Her heart was racing, her body tensed. What if the murderer knew that Marty was in charge today? If children knew when he worked, did grown-ups too? Did _this one_ grown-up know? What if the killer had followed her and decided to get rid off her right here and now in this police station because they knew that only Marty was here? What if they murdered them both? She dug her fingers deeper into the fabric of her skirt.

“Hello? Are you listening to me, kid?” Marty’s voice snapped her back to reality.

She stared at him with wide eyes. “Hm?”

“I asked: Was that a nod for the kidding part or the head part?”

When Elizabeth didn’t reply and simply kept staring at him, he only sighed. “Not very talkative, are you? For now, I am believing you because I don’t think you are that much of an actress to fool me, Mighty Marty. So... for the protocol, what is your name?”

 

 

***

 

 

It was little after 10 pm when Ciel’s late night ice-cream eating was disturbed.

Regularly, Ciel would eat ice-cream even if it was already late. He did not even care about the fact that it was late autumn. After all, it might be cold outside, but it was quite warm inside his townhouse. Thus it was fairly reasonable to eat ice-cream even on an icy November day. Ciel especially liked it to sit next to a window on the ground floor while eating so that he could watch the passersby shuddering in the coldness while being warm and comfortable himself.

But today, he was sitting in his office, and thus, could see the tiny red lamp going on on his desk. The alarm used to make a sound too but Sebastian had once changed the ring tone from the _Toccata_ by Johann Sebastian Bach to the cat song from _The Big Bang Theory_ when his master hadn’t been there. Annoyed, Ciel had removed this function upon finding out about this change.

Ciel had made the alarm himself: It was connected to Scotland Yard, and every time someone pressed a certain button in one of their police stations, the small lamp lit up in his office. Next to this button, Ciel had let little, foldout, and extractable keyboards to be installed so that whoever had pressed the button could send him a short message, telling him what was going on. Then, the message would appear on a small display on the alarm cube. Another display showed the number of the police station from where the message had been sent.

He leaned forward and read the message: _“S7616_ _–_ _around Brick Lane, Muscle. Manor: circle. DI Right Brother.”_

Ciel himself had invented the code and was quite proud of it. It had not been the easiest task to teach it to the police, though. The message, decrypted, meant:

_Serial murder case: New Whitechapel Murders – around Brick Lane, now. Witness: a female. DI Marty Card._

Ciel frowned. A witness? That was strange. There had never been a witness to this case. But Ciel could not think longer about it as the message had said that the murder was happening _right now_. _Apparently, the witness has immediately run to the next police station. Interesting._ He stood up and called Sebastian.

 

 

***

 

 

Less than two minutes later, Ciel and Sebastian arrived at the scene of the crime, but the criminal was already gone. It looked like the other crime scenes which Ciel had seen in the photographs the Queen had included in her letter: The horrifyingly mangled victim was lying in a pool of blood. Her eyes were staring up at the dark sky as if she was trying to pledge Heaven for mercy. Ciel couldn’t help but to bitterly chuckle at this sight. _Mercy. What a joke._

“Sebastian – search the crime scene for things which seem important or odd,” Ciel ordered.

_Normally, a crime scene is secured first, then thoroughly documented by taking photographs and drawing sketches before evidence is collected. But if you have a demon butler and are the Watchdog, things work a little bit differently._

“Yes, Mylord,” Sebastian replied, his eyes glowing bright red, and began to work.

 

 

“What now, Young Master?” the butler asked a few minutes later, closing the last plastic bag.

“That someone witnessed the murder is bad enough,” Ciel meant, walking back and forth. “We cannot allow anyone else to see the crime scene again.”

“And what do you suggest, Mylord?”

“You need to restore the street’s appearance before the murder took place. Like that, this case will stay the secret it has been since the first murder.” Ciel looked up at Sebastian. “Sebastian – I order you to restore the street’s appearance, and when you’re done to bring me to Marty Card’s police station. There is someone we need to speak.”

 

 

***

 

 

“Come to think of it, Lizzy, you were not hallucinating, were you?”

After Elizabeth had calmed herself by slowly and deeply breathing in and out and after Marty had given her cup by cup of tea, she had been somehow able to answer Marty’s questions – told him her name and contact data and all she knew about the crime – even if she could only vaguely remember what had happened.

At which time did you see the murder? _I am not sure. I think sometime after nine o’clock._

What did the murderer look like? _I can’t remember._

Did he have a weapon? _No. Wait... yes. A knife. The killer had a knife._

Eventually, Marty had decided that saying “Miss Midford” all the time was too troublesome and started to call her “Lizzy” instead without her permission.

“I am only asking because I’ve noticed that your backpack is full of chocolate and that you have a plastic bag full of Rainbow Bagels. Too much sugar can do strange things to some people, you know? Some become hyperactive, some start hallucinating. Could also be that I am mixing this up with some other white substance, though.” Marty shrugged. “Nevertheless, can I have some? I am starving. The others went home early, leaving me with all the work. Can you believe that? They work for the police, justice and righteousness and all, and then they leave their coworker to do everything! Didn’t have time to grab something to eat. Could be that I started doodling food on the documents I had to fill out.”

Elizabeth threw him a Rainbow Bagel. It nearly fell to the ground because she didn’t have the strength anymore to throw it properly. His hunger, apparently, gave Marty the power to dive headlong over the counter and catch the bagel a centimetre over the ground with the grace and elegance of a drunk cat.

“Caught it!” he happily exclaimed before returning to his original position behind the counter. “Never thought that I am so sporty, right?” Marty ate the bagel like a savage. “Oh, Heavenly Rainbow Bagel! Without you, I would have died of hunger. You coming here was truly a gift of Heaven, Lizzy! When we forget the murder part, though.”

“When do you think my parents will come?” Elizabeth asked him. She felt tired, and her brain kept repeating the screams of the victim again and again. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be with her parents and brother. She wanted to go to sleep and wake up tomorrow and find out that all of this had been a mad, mad dream. What were the odds to witness a murder on your first day of school?

“I didn’t notify them,” Marty said, licking the bagel crumbs from his fingers.

Elizabeth blinked at him, the fog over her mind suddenly lifted. “ _What?_ ”

“That means ‘Excuse me,’” he corrected her. “Also, if I had called them, they would have come to see and get their baby duck – Babies of a duck are called ‘ducklings,’ right? Like in _The Ugly Duckling_ ; to see and get their duckling then. However, I cannot allow that. Someone high-up will want to talk to you. And if I mean ‘high-up’ I mean ‘ _scarily_ high-up.’ He can do things no other citizens of Britain can. Cannot afford to enrage this guy. Like I’ve said, I cling to my head. And I know what you’re thinking ‘It’s the 21st century, and we are in a civilised country, nobody gets executed and incapacitated here!’ But I have to tell you otherwise: _He_ has the power to wander outside of law, _he_ does not care if we are still in the 21st century and that I have a nice head I cling to.”

“Who is this ‘scarily high-up’ person?” Elizabeth wanted to know.

“‘The Phantom Protector of Great Britain’!” Marty theatrically said, spreading his arms. “His work and existence are one of the best-kept secrets in the entire United Kingdom. And I am one of the secret keepers. It’s such an honour!”

“Which you have just told me.”

“Excuse me?” he blinked at her.

“‘His work and existence is one of the best kept secrets in the entire United Kingdom.’ And you have just told me about him.”

Marty immediately turned very, _very_ pale. “Oh God, what have I _done_? I will be killed for sure. Beheaded like this dumb queen with her pimped out dress and white, stinky wig –”

“Marie Antoinette.”

“– Mary Anton!” he continued in a scream.

Then, to Marty’s horror, the door to the police station opened. He shrieked and jumped out of his chair. Elizabeth’s body temperature increased – _What if it’s the killer?_ she thought between two raced heartbeats –, and she craned her head to see who had entered the station. And as soon as she saw who had come, her body temperature promptly dropped – her initial, unreasonable fear – Marty _had_ told her that someone was coming after all – being replaced by cold disbelief.

Only a few metres away from her stood a person she knew. A person who had just turned around and whose eyes widened at the sight of her just like her own did.

_Cute Shortie._

 

 

***

 

 

Ten minutes later, Elizabeth Midford was sitting in the back seat of a Bentley. _A 1954er R-type continental. One of the only 208 which had ever been created_ , instinctively crossed her mind. Growing up with an older brother and a father with a deep love for old and rare things, especially cars, had left marks on her. Furthermore, ever since she had been a child, facts and numbers had a comforting effect on her. And now, it helped her to keep her mind from drifting away again.

_King Henry VIII never slept without an axe beside him._

_Two-thirds of the world’s population has never seen snow._

_The first three digits of pi are 3.14. Backwards, these numbers spell “pie.”_

_Four is considered to be an unlucky number in some Asian countries as their names for “four” sound similar to their words for “death.”_

_In Thailand, “five” is pronounced as “ha.” 555 would be “ha ha ha.”_

_The national anthem of Greece consists of 158 stanzas, but, normally, only the first two are sung._

_The tradition to buy a white dress which is specially made and worn for and on your wedding started with Queen Victoria in 1840. Before that, women wore dresses to their weddings which they could wear afterwards too. Also, these dresses could be of any colour._

_People suffering from Capgras delusion believe that someone close to them, for example a good friend or family members, was replaced by a doppelganger._

_One year after the tragedy of the Titanic, the International Ice Patrol came into existence. Its purpose is to warn ships of icebergs._

_Even though Buddhism originates from India, only around one percent of Indians are Buddhists. Most of them are Hindus._

_Ciel Phantomhive is the “Phantom Protector of Great Britain.”_

 

 

Half an hour later, the Bentley stopped, and Ciel’s butler, a tall man with black hair and peculiar eyes, opened the door for Elizabeth. She left her bags inside the car, and the butler helped her to get out. The instance she saw where they were, her eyes widened.

_Why did they bring me to_ school _?_

Quietly, Elizabeth followed Ciel and his butler to Blue House, and the butler opened a door for them which said “McMillan & Phantomhive Detective Agency – Chocolate for Investigating.” Ciel entered the room and sat down behind a large desk, and as soon as Elizabeth had stepped through the door too, the butler closed it behind her, leaving the two of them alone.

As weak as a kitten, Elizabeth fell onto a sofa. The entire day had been awfully draining. First, she had been late to school. Then, she had lost her diary and became witness to murder. Now, she was sitting inside a Detective Agency at her school with the ominous “Phantom Protector of Great Britain” opposite from her – who had turned out to be the boy she had run into this very morning.

“I thought that it would be better if we could talk in a calm environment,” Ciel started, turning on a table lamp which was barely able to illuminate the room. “The police station is rather... loud with Card in charge.” He leaned back. “Let me introduce me first: My name is Ciel Phantomhive, the Earl of Phantomhive – but I guess that you have already known that.”

Blood rushed into Elizabeth’s cheeks, and she was thankful for the dim light. “I am Elizabeth Midford.”

She could faintly see Ciel raising one of his eyebrows. “Midford? Like in Marquess Alexis Leon Midford?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. I am his daughter.”

“I see.”

Ciel wanted to continue, but a question suddenly blurted out of Elizabeth and cut him off: “How come you are ‘The Phantom Protector of Great Britain’?”

He blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

Elizabeth’s cheeks turned bright red. “That’s what Marty Card called you,” she mumbled.

“Card?” She could hear Ciel chuckle. “Nobody calls me that.”

Elizabeth looked up, and Ciel continued: “But that is, more or less, a description of what I am and what I do.” Ciel’s next words froze the blood in her veins.

“I am the Watchdog of the Queen – the secret executive organ, the private detective, and private assassin of Her Majesty the Queen Elizabeth the Second.

“I am the detective in charge of this murder case; and, unfortunately, you, Lady Midford, have to work with me now.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure if you have already noticed it - but I have added a poem at the beginning of the fanfiction! :D The story is very loosely based on it, and also has its name from it.
> 
> Also, I am currently looking for a co-author for this FF (because LW is laaaazy as hell >.<) - so if you are interested, please let me now in the comments :)


	5. The Queen of Hearts

_“The Queen had only one way of settling all difficulties, great or small.”_

– _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ , Lewis Carroll

* * *

 

 

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – November 2016**

 

 

He woke up to the sound of broken glass and screams.

Ciel Phantomhive had stopped a very long time ago to set himself an alarm. His servants always started the breakfast preparations at the same time every day. And every time, something was broken – resulting in panic and hysteric cries. Sebastian did not even bother to wake up his master anymore.

 _Home sweet home_ , Ciel thought and sat up in his bed. In exactly ten minutes – no second earlier, no second later – Sebastian would come and bring him his breakfast. And in these ten minutes, Ciel recalled the events of yesterday, rubbing his temples. _Of all people, Green Eyes had to turn out to be the witness._

 

***

 

_Elizabeth Midford stared at him, her green eyes wide. “I should work with you?” she said, not believing the words which had left her own mouth. “Why?”_

_“Not in the way you think I mean,” Ciel answered, taking a Rubik’s Cube from his desk and fiddling with it. “I do not want you to work actively with me – to investigate crime scenes, to interview witnesses, etc. When I said that you have to work with me, I meant ‘I need you by my side to make sure that what you saw does not get to the public.’ The murder you have witnessed is the fourth one committed by someone the Yard and I call the ‘Whitechapel Copycat.’_

_“You haven’t heard anything about this case of serial murders, right? They started in late September. Usually, the newspapers would have been able to get at least_ bits _of this story and tell them to the world. But, despite Scotland Yard’s incompetence, we have managed to keep this case a secret from the public. Nobody than those involved with the investigation knows about the ‛Whitechapel Copycat.’ In two years is the 130th anniversary of Jack the Ripper’s famous, unsolved crimes. And now, a copycat has appeared? The media would go crazy on this, and this would hamper the investigation._

_“I need you to cooperate with me, need you to be by my side because if you don’t, if you aren’t, and the newspapers and hobby, wannabe detectives sneak around, it will be fatal to the investigation.”_

_He looked up from the cube. “We will make sure that you get police protection 24/7. They will follow you as subtly as possible. You are the only witness this case has even though you cannot remember much of what you’ve seen – I’ve read your answers Card protocoled –, but the culprit may or may not go after you, and we cannot afford to lose you. After all, you may remember something later on. Something which could be of great help to find out who killed these four women.”_

_“I have... no intention to tell anyone anything about today,” Elizabeth slowly replied to him, before she added in a whisper, almost shyly: “The perceptive abilities of my mother are_ immense _. If the officers aren’t the world’s best ninjas, she will notice them and find out that something is going on.”_

_Ciel raised an eyebrow. “I will make sure that she does not find out about them,” he assured her, and put the Rubik’s Cube away, standing up and going to the door._

_“Be aware that you cannot tell anyone about today – not your family, not your friends –, and that, for a while, your personal life will constantly be watched and compromised. Furthermore, if you decide to tell anyone anyway, Lady Midford, nothing good will happen to you and those you have told anything about this case. My butler will bring you home now; I wish you a good night.”_

 

***

 

“Lady Midford is indeed a very interesting person. Usually, witnesses are not so brave and composed to go straight to the police after seeing such a gruesome crime,” Sebastian suddenly said, pouring tea into a cup. Ciel had not noticed his butler entering the room or that the ten minutes were already over.

“How did you know that I was thinking about her?” Ciel wanted to know.

Sebastian handed his master the cup of tea. “About what else should you be thinking about than the events of yesterday, Mylord?”

Ciel took the cup and leaned back into his pillows. “Her courage is the result of all the chivalry in her blood,” he meant. “The Midfords used to be famous knights. Without a doubt, she has no idea about how to hold a sword, but the sense of chivalry and justice is still inside her.”

“I have the feeling that with her this case could take some interesting turns.”

Ciel frowned. “Why should it? She is only a witness. She will do nothing more than provide information.” He put down his empty cup. “Enough talking. Now, help me to get dressed.”

 

***

 

When Elizabeth woke up on Friday, her dream still clung to her. Ever since the events of Monday, she kept dreaming of the same thing every night: The Whitechapel Copycat stabbing their victim over and over again. A curtain of red which blurred her view of the scene. An odd, iridescent glow shining briefly in the dark night.

Sleepily, Elizabeth tumbled into the bathroom, got washed and dressed before going downstairs for breakfast. After she had calmed down in the last few days and had been able to analyse the events of Monday from a new, clearer, and distanced position, Elizabeth could not understand how _stupid_ she had behaved back then: Why had she been so anxious while she had been at the police station? Especially when the door had opened, and Ciel had entered? How could she have believed _for even a second_ that the murderer would casually come through the door? After all, there were cameras in police stations – no one was so dumb to do anything like that, and Marty _had_ told her that someone wanting to meet her would come. After she had witnessed the murder, she had been oversensitive over anything – had got scared over every single, little thing even though there had been no reason at all to be scared or anxious about them. She had made a mountain out of every molehill she could find.

After witnessing the murder, Elizabeth had instinctively shut down her brain which had resulted in her not being able to recall anything specific from the crime scene.

 _I am most likely the worst witness in the history of witnesses_ , Elizabeth thought right before saying goodbye to her parents and leaving for school. Knowing that you were followed wherever you went was a very uncomfortable thing – but at least, Francis had not noticed any of them.

_Silly, silly, silly – I am so silly for having let the shock consume me. Because of that, I cannot help Cute Shortie by providing information on the culprit’s appearance. Because of that, it won’t be as easy for him to find the copycat. To find the murderer of the poor victim. The poor person I saw die._

_But when I cannot help Cute Shortie like that, I sure as hell can aid him differently._

_And this time, I will not allow my senses to be cloaked._

 

***

 

The fourth period on Friday was Ciel’s only P.E. lesson in the entire week, and he had never attended a single class. Still, McMillan who should have P.E. with him kept looking at the door in the hope that his best friend could have had a change of heart.

This often resulted in McMillan’s head being hit by a ball and he being allowed to leave class earlier than the others. He always used this extension to his lunch break to head to the Agency and go through the paperwork. All sorts of things happened to the students of Weston College – some missed their lunch money, had lost something, were sabotaged, thought that someone else was behaving weirdly, etc. –, and as these students always came to them, McMillan and Ciel, the list of cases and their accompanying paperwork was sheer endless. Still, McMillan greatly enjoyed doing this job of aiding his friend.

He was just filing some documents when there was a knock on the door.

“You may enter,” McMillan called, not looking up. He heard footsteps and the sound of the door closing.

“Is... is Ciel here?” the person who had knocked and entered asked, and McMillan finally looked up. By the door, a girl with blonde hair was standing. He did not know her name which was quite peculiar as he knew the name of every student of Weston College but recognised her as the girl Ciel had returned something to earlier this week. _Lunch break on Monday, November 21._

“I am sorry,” McMillan answered, “he’s not here. But you can wait here until he comes – which will be soon because he always spends his lunch breaks here.” He walked towards the girl and held out a hand. “I am McMillan,” he introduced himself with a smile on his face.

She took his hand and shook it. “Elizabeth Midford.”

_Oh, the daughter of Marquess Alexis Leon Midford?_

“It is nice to meet you, Lady Midford,” McMillan said formally. “You have only transferred to our school on Monday, right?”

“Yes, you are. How do you know that? And by the way, you can just call me ‘Lizzy,’” Elizabeth replied, sitting down on a sofa. “There is no need to be so formal when we are simply schoolmates.”

“I know a lot about every pupil of Weston,” he meant, “both from the school and the university part. So, why did you come here in the middle of the school year, Lizzy?”

“You know about the elections in the USA?” she asked, and McMillan nodded. “Well, you see, my mother was not the biggest fan of the election’s outcome and persuaded my father to move, and that’s why we’re here now. She said that ‘there is nothing more ridiculous than living in a country in which an orange-skinned man with dreadful hair won an election.’”

McMillan chuckled and started to file documents again. “I did not know that the Marchioness is such a funny woman.”

“Yeah, but she can be really scary,” Elizabeth said. “I think that if she had had the opportunity, she would have gone to Trump and talked to him until he had started to cry and overthought his entire existence.”

He laughed the instance the door opened, and Ciel Phantomhive hastily entered the Agency, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Chloé again?” McMillan asked. Chloé Donovan was a Year 8 pupil who bothered the Agency with terribly stupid things all the time. She had two highly embarrassing middle names – Jeanette and Chantal –, had been spoiled by her father who saw his daughter through pink glasses ever since her birth, actually had to wear glasses but didn’t do it because glasses were too “geeky” for her, and had played in a mortifying advertisement when she had been younger but her family had done a magnificent job hiding this fact and the ad’s video from the world. McMillan still knew about it though. In fact, he had said ad safely stored on his laptop, as a CD on his shelf, and uploaded on various file hosting services.

“Her fingernail broke even though she had let them be made only yesterday, and now, she wants me to go to the shop and find evidence that proves that they tricked her.” Ciel ran a hand through his hair while someone hammered against the door from the other side. Perhaps, Chloé even shouted something at them, but the door and the walls were at least thick enough to conceal voices.

“I think we should let our clients do IQ tests before allowing them to request our services. We are neither in a novel, manga, nor a fanfiction. Why do such things keep happening to us? How is that statistically even possible?” Ciel added, and just wanted to head to his desk when he noticed Elizabeth sitting on the sofa.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded to know.

She glanced at McMillan who finally understood who she was and why she was here. _I have started to wonder why she came here._

“You are the witness of the Whitechapel Copycat case?” he said, earning a surprised look from Elizabeth. McMillan scratched his head. “Uh, yes, I know who Ciel is. Didn’t see that coming, right? Nobody usually does even though we are best friends.”

“Colleagues,” Ciel said.

“Best friends,” McMillan said, nodding.

“Uh, I am simply surprised because I thought that Ciel’s real occupation is one of the best-kept secrets in the UK,” Elizabeth replied.

“Of course it is,” McMillan told her, putting away the folder into which he had finished filing the documents, “but I know it anyway.”

Ciel sat down behind his desk. “Okay after we have finally sorted this out, can you please tell me why you are here, Lady Midford?”

Elizabeth had been about to say something when the door suddenly flew open. McMillan feared that Chloé in her insane rage had somehow managed to damage the lock. Therefore, he was even more relieved when he saw who had actually entered the Agency. _What a relief! The C4 would have never agreed to finance us a new door if anything had happened._

“Madam Red?! Lau?! Why are you here...” Ciel yelled.

“We were taking a walk when we passed your school, and I thought – ‘I haven’t visited my cute nephew for so long, let’s see how he is doing now,’” Angelina Dalles answered him with a smile on her face. She was the sister of Ciel’s late mother Rachel and the widow of Baron Burnett, but nobody referred to her as “Baroness Burnett” as most people called her either by her maiden name or “Madam Red” due to her beautiful red hair and her preference to wear red clothes all the time. “It is good to see you, and you too, McMillan.”

“Hello, Doctor Dalles,” McMillan replied.

“Hey, Earl,” Lau said – he was officially the manager of the English branch of a Chinese trading company named Kong-Rong. Unofficially, he was also the top official of Green Bang, a Chinese mafia. McMillan liked Angelina and Lau even though the latter had the ability to irritate him quite often. “I accompanied your aunt because I believed that I could stumble into something interesting.”

Ciel sighed. “What interesting things can happen in a _school_ , Lau? Children with paper-cuts?”

“I attended this school once too, Earl, and I learned that interesting things could even happen at schools.”

Ciel sighed again and turned his attention to Angelina who had spotted Elizabeth. “Hello! Who are you? I have never seen you here before – what is your name?” she said after staring at her for a moment which made McMillan subtly raise an eyebrow. “I am Angelina Dalles, Ciel’s aunt.”

“Uh, well, I am–” Elizabeth answered uneasily before cutting herself off and looking at McMillan and Ciel for help.

Angelina’s eyes widened at Elizabeth’s action. “Don’t tell me you’ve had a girlfriend all along, Ciel! And even such a cute one! How could you keep this a secret from me?”

Simultaneously, both Ciel and Elizabeth blushed, and Ciel hurried to say: “It is nothing like that! Her name is Elizabeth Midford, she has only transferred to Weston as of Monday, and she is only here because she wants to join the Agency.”

For some reason, his words let an amused smile appear on Angelina’s face. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yes, but I told her that we are currently not recruiting anyone, and she was just about to go.”

“Oh, why not? I am sure that Elizabeth here will be a wonderful addition to your little Agency.” Angelina walked to Elizabeth and put a hand on one of the girl’s shoulders. “You should let her join! You and McMillan have run this place alone for years now – it is time for a change, don’t you think? And when a cute, little girl like her honestly wants to join, then let her!”

Ciel shook his head. “You cannot just walk in here and tell me what to do – less even decide for me.”

“Sure, I can.” Madam Red smiled at Elizabeth. “Welcome to the McMillan & Phantomhive Detective Agency, dear.” She turned back to her nephew who had turned red again – but because of anger this time. “I believe that Elizabeth will be of great help in _this case_ if you ask me.” She blinked at him. “I am already looking forward to seeing her later at the townhouse.” Angelina patted Elizabeth’s shoulder before heading towards the door.

“I will see you after school, Nephew-Number-One and Elizabeth! Goodbye, McMillan!” With these words, she and Lau left as quickly as they had come, and Ciel tore his hair.

 

 

***

 

 

Elizabeth still had no clue what had happened earlier, and now, she was standing in front of the entrance to the Phantomhive townhouse.

 _I have never thought that I would get the permission to help_ like that _. This is almost as unbelievable as that Chicago was raised over 1.22 metres with screw jacks to install the first sewer system of the United States._

The door flew open only a second after she had finally sounded the bell after standing awkwardly in front of the entrance for around ten minutes, wondering if she should have really come here in the first place.

“Good afternoon, Lady Elizabeth,” Sebastian Michaelis, Ciel’s butler, greeted her with a bow. “Please come inside.”

Elizabeth stepped inside, and Sebastian closed the door behind her before he led her through the corridors. “The Young Master will arrive in approximately half an hour. His chemistry teacher, Henry Lumière, is very fond of having a chat with him after the lesson as they are both part French.”

_Aaaand now I could not help myself but imagine Cute Shortie as a stereotypical French boy: in a striped t-shirt with a red scarf slung around his neck, a beret on his head, and a baguette in his hand._

“Until his arrival, I request you to wait in the drawing room. I have prepared a few cakes and–” Sebastian stopped talking when he opened the door to the parlour and saw Angelina, Lau, and another man throwing things out of the cupboards. They turned their gazes towards Elizabeth and Sebastian. “Oh, hello, Sebastian, Elizabeth, good to see you,” Angelina said, stopping in her action and waving at them, smiling. “We are currently searching for some chocolate – as I know my nephew, there is chocolate hidden everywhere in this house, but, as of now, we weren’t successful.”

 

 

After Sebastian had cleaned everything up with a scary speed and brought them some chocolate, he left Elizabeth alone with them. She learned that Angelina was the aunt Paula had told her about some days ago and that she and Lau were part of a group called the “Aristocrats of Evil” – “There is no reason to hide this from you as you are working with my nephew now” –  which helped the Queen’s Watchdog – the actual name for Ciel’s occupation. She also learned that the fourth and last person in the room was Grelle Sutcliff, Madam Red’s incredibly clumsy butler.

After telling Elizabeth all these things, Angelina started to bombard her with questions which she politely answered. _She and Cute Shortie are the sorts of persons you will never guess are relatives until you are told so_ , Elizabeth thought, eating another macaron.

“Such a pity,” Angelina said when Ciel finally arrived. “I was just about to show Lizzy some of your baby photos.”

“Good that I have burned them all,” he said, sitting down on an armchair.

She grinned at him. “Not the ones which I saved on OneDrive.”

“I hacked your account – well, it was not exactly hacking as you always use the same password on every one of your accounts: CC141203.”

“And what about my Dropbox?”

“Ditto.”

“I cannot believe that you have done this! You used to be such a sweet child, how did you become like this?”

“People change, Aunt, and let’s talk seriously now.” Ciel leaned back in his chair. “The newest victim of the Whitechapel Copycat is a prostitute named Anna Walker. She was born on January 3, 1993, to Conrad and Maryanne Walker who are a physician and a kindergartener respectively.

“Anna was an average child – not too shy, not too bold, a couple of friends, average marks – and led a normal and calm life until she turned eighteen. The factor which changed her life holds the name Jonathan Dells.

“Dells is three years older than her, tattooed, and a person everybody would call” – Ciel cleared this throat – “a ‘bad boy.’

“One day after finishing her shift at the local nursery home she was a volunteer at, Anna met Dells, and despite hating him the instance she saw him, she loved him too. And he, despite never having ‘opened’ his heart to someone before, only fooling around to try to forget his terrible past full of drugs and fatherly violence, started to ‘love’ her too from this moment.

“They barely knew each other, but Anna and Dells still started to go out. Anna did not go to the nursery home anymore or to school, only spent her time with Dells. Her family and friends were worried about their little, nice girl but despite every reason and logic, Anna stayed at Dells’ side who regularly slept with others while dating her. Dells’ with whom she fought only to sleep with him for no reason at all in the middle of it. The next day, the fight from yesterday would be picked up again – only to start this vicious circle of illogical actions again. Dells insulted her, abused her, cheated on her, isolated her from the people who actually loved and cared about her, made her cry and sad, drowned her worries in drugs, treated her like an object – but Anna still loved him. For Anna actually believed that what they had was ‘love.’

“But, then, a year later, a year of bruises and tears, it happened what had to happen: Dells grew tired of her. He beat her up one last time – I guess, for old time’s sake – and kicked her out of his apartment, already having a long queue of new, stupid girls to exploit waiting for him. With nowhere to go, Anna eventually started to sell her body to strangers.

“And now, at the age of twenty-three, she died – was gruesomely killed by the hands of a madman or – woman. That is all that McMillan could find out about Anna Walker.”

“That sounds _exactly_ like the premise of a bad NA novel,” Elizabeth meant. “But without the unrealistic happy end.”

Ciel frowned at her. “NA?”

“‘New Adult.’ It is a term for books written especially for people in their twenties. Like ‘Young Adult’ books are specially written for teenagers. Most well-known NA books revolve around the same exact things – ‘good girl’ meets a highly abusive ‘bad boy,’ but does not accept the fact that he is an abuser and tells herself that he is only ‘misunderstood’ and her ‘soulmate.’ You know, books like _After_.”

“Yes, I have heard of that book – a book which used to be a terrible One Direction fanfiction. Good that I only read classics. That sounds awful. Ah, and did you know that ‘After’ is the German word for ‘anus’? I think the title is quite fitting when taking that into consideration if you ask me.”

Elizabeth giggled at his words before she suddenly remembered something. “Ah, before I forget it! You said that McMillan found out all these things about Anna Walker – but where is he? Shouldn’t he be here if this is a meeting to talk about the Copycat case?” she wanted to know.

“He doesn’t have any time. It’s his younger siblings’ birthday on Monday, and he still needs to prepare a lot,” Ciel answered her.

“It’s very sweet of him to put so much time and work for his siblings’ birthday.”

He shrugged. “He simply likes organising things.”

 _McMillan & Phantomhive Party Planner Agency – Chocolate for Decorating_, Elizabeth automatically had to think, and she bit into another macaron to hide her silly grin.

“The Queen’s Watchdog has already been dispatched, but I am not interested. However – do you have the guts to go to the crime scene?” Lau said out of the blue, the smile of a cat on his lips.

“What do you mean?” Ciel asked, clearly puzzled by the suddenness of his words.

Lau stood up and walked to Ciel with the grace of a dancer. “I smelled a beast at the crime scene. The murderer is definitely an abnormal madman.” He bent down and touched his face. “Will you... be scared? Earl of Phantomhive?”

Ciel stared up at Lau. “Why should I be? I was already there on Monday.”

For a wing beat, the parlour of the Phantomhive townhouse was completely silent.

“Oh... Really?” Lau let his hand sink. “Well, then, let us go there again!” he said and yanked Ciel up from his armchair.

“Wait a minute!” Angelina exclaimed, making Lau stop in his movement and letting Ciel fall to the ground. Immediately, Elizabeth jumped up to help him get up, but Sebastian was faster than her.

“Let us all go, then. Lau, where is the crime scene?” Madam Red said.

“Don’t you know, Madam?” He looked at her with a mysterious grin before he dropped it abruptly and shrugged. “Don’t ask me; I don’t know the way either.”

“You talk so arrogantly, yet you don’t even know where it is?!” she yelled at him.

Ciel sighed. “Calm down,” he said after Sebastian had stopped cleaning his master’s clothes from dust and other particles. “I have never intended to go there again in the first place. After all, there is nothing left to find there anymore. But I know someone who knows more about this case than we do at this point.” He looked at Elizabeth with open displeasure in his eyes at the prospect of meeting the person he was referring to. “I hope you know some good jokes, Lady Midford.”

 

 

* * *

 

~~~***~~~

* * *

 

 

**_BONUS – at some point after Elizabeth’s, Angelina’s, and Lau’s visit to the Agency, McMillan started a not really canon conversation with Ciel:_ **

**McMillan:** Uh... Ciel, I have to tell you something very important.

 **Ciel:** *looking up from building a card house* Hm? What is that important thing you want to tell me?

 **McMillan:** Do you remember what you have said after running away from Chloé? That “we are neither in a novel, manga, nor fanfiction”?

 **Ciel:** Yes, I do remember.

 **McMillan:** Well, you have to see, Ciel, that you were right with the novel part but partially wrong at the manga one and completely wrong on the fanfiction part.

 **Ciel:** *frowning* What do you intend to say, N?

 **McMillan:** I intend to say that you and I and nobody else in this universe is real – that we are part of a manga called _Kuroshitsuji_ or _Black Butler_ which is written and drawn by a woman who calls herself “Yana Toboso.” But, right now, we are not in a manga universe – we are in a fanfiction based on the manga universe we actually belong to. The manga _Kuroshitsuji_ is actually set in the late 1880s, you are serving the queen of that time, Queen Victoria, and we are not the best of friends in this original universe because we only briefly got to know each other when you had to stay at Weston – in _Kuroshitsuji_ it is still a boarding school and solely opened to boys – to investigate the strange behaviour and disappearance of a person called Derrick Arden. To spoiler you – Derrick was murdered and later turned into a “Bizarre Doll,” a zombie-like creature.

We are currently in a fanfiction named _The Stars of the Night_ which is written by two persons under the nickname “Automatons and Clocks.” Well, at least, it _should_ be written by two. It is actually only made by a girl with the nickname “RedThreat” or “PeachDestroyer” because the other one is lazy.

 **Ciel:** And if we are, as you say, indeed only fictional characters – how do you know that?

 **McMillan:** When we are inside of _Kuroshitsuji_ none of us is aware of the fact that we are not real, breathing persons. And when we are transferred to a fanwork, we lose most of our memories of the source universe – how much we forget is dependent on the new creator and if or if not it is an AU or anything like that. We can also gain new memories depending on the new creator. But we lose the memories we have gained in this fan work when we go back to our original universe. I, however, do not lose them for some reason and am even fully aware of being entirely fictional. And because I can keep my memories of the fanworks I am in – which are, sadly, not many – I know quite a lot of things. There is a lot of terrible fanfiction out there, Ciel. I still get nightmares from simply thinking of them.

Whatever – I am in possession of all my source memories, but also know things _beyond_ the source material. And to prove that I am not a lunatic – I know that Sebastian is a demon. You had made a contract with him when you were ten years old and about to be sacrificed by some crazy cult. But don’t worry, I will never tell anyone about it. You are my best friend after all – fully in this universe and one-sided in the source material.

 **Ciel:** That... that is quite a surprise.

 **McMillan:** Isn’t it? And by the way, Lizzy is your fiancée in _Kuroshitsuji_.

 **Ciel:** She is _what?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 2014, I had the idea of making a story about a boy and a girl who have the ability to travel through book worlds.
> 
> I did not touch this idea in YEARS. But some months ago, while trying to solve this one problem I had with a multi-crossover fanfiction project for a very long time now, I suddenly remembered this. So, I dug out my old Word file for this book travel original story which was a VERY small file btw. And while trying to solve the MCFPP (multi-crossover fanfiction project problem) my busy brain expanded my old idea - and suddenly, I had saved an old story from hell AND solved the big problem for one of my projects which mean the most to me. I have planned to do A LOT of projects (amongst others: a Lizzy/Ciel project), and my work on TSotN and WotQ is keeping me quite busy alongside school (I am graduating this year! I will go to university this year! It's scary!) and working on my original stories (I have a lot, like I've said, my brain is quite busy, and the Book Travel story is not the only one I was able to save from hell AND I AM SO HAPPY ABOUT THAT) so I have no idea when I will be able to do and upload this MCFP or any of my other projects but I will definitely do it.
> 
> But why am I telling you all of this, you ask? Is it part of some kind of future preview? No. I told you all of this stuff you most likely just skimmed over because the Revival of the Book Travel story together with the fact that McMillan is odd as hell because he knows so many things (writing his POV was very challenging) was the fundament of this chapter's little bonus.
> 
> Well... whatever. That was one hell of an info dump.
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter!


	6. A Fine Laugh is the Best Medicine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one month! :D I am quite proud of myself right now.
> 
> I don't know when the next one will come because I have to focus on quite a lot of things in the next months - but in the meantime, enjoy this chapter!

_“I love people who make me laugh. I honestly think it’s the thing I like most, to laugh. It cures a multitude of ills. It’s probably the most important thing in a person.”_

― Audrey Hepburn

* * *

 

  


**London, England, United Kingdom – November 2016**

 

 

That was not what Elizabeth had awaited.

After seeing the look on Ciel’s face and hearing his ominous words, she had braced herself to go to a very strange place – like something resembling a witch’s house. But now, she and the others were standing in front of St Bartholomew’s Hospital – the oldest hospital in Great Britain, having been founded in 1123.

“I thought that we would go somewhere odd,” Elizabeth told Ciel while they entered the building through the back door.

“The place is not odd,” he answered her, not looking at her but keeping his eyes in front of him. “The person we are about to meet, however, is.”

They headed downstairs, and people who saw them only glanced at them before continuing to where they had to go. The hospital staff had indeed got used to seeing a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy wandering around these halls, flanked by a weirdly mixed group of adults. If anyone of them was surprised to see Elizabeth, they did a magnificent job not to show it.

Elizabeth followed Ciel and the others into Barts’ morgue – a huge room in a sickening white with the doors of the containers on the walls and tables resembling operating ones here and there. Except them, there was nobody else in the room.

“I am not in the mood for your silly games, Undertaker,” Ciel said into the room, and Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at his words.

“Hi hi. I knew that you would come~” suddenly came a voice from somewhere around the room, interrupting Elizabeth who had just wanted to ask Ciel why the person they were here to meet was called _“Undertaker.”_

“Welcome, Earl…” continued the eerie voice, and one of the container doors opened. “Do you want to see how it feels to sleep in a container?”

Elizabeth got goose bumps when she saw a tall man with long silvery grey hair crawling out of the container. _How morbid – a living person in a place for the dead._

The man wore a black suit which was a little bit too big for him and a black hat. The bangs of his hair were so long and unruly that they covered most of his face, but she could still see a scar running over his face and the wide grin on his face when he finally stood tall and odd in front of them. A glimpse at Lau, Angelina, and Grelle told Elizabeth that the man’s entrance had scared them more than it had her: They were staring at him with open mouths and Grelle cowered on the ground, completely horrified.

The man seemed to be quite amused by their reaction.

“Like I’ve said: I didn’t come here to play today,” Ciel replied with slight annoyance in his voice.

The strange man walked towards Ciel and pressed a finger against his mouth and only now, Elizabeth could see that he had very long fingernails which had been painted black and wore a ring on his left index finger.

“You don’t need to tell me. I know why you came. With just one look I can tell what is on your mind.” He giggled, and when he saw Elizabeth, his grin widened.

“You brought an interesting girl with you, Earl,” the man said. “And since you went out of your way to visit me, I’ll certainly do everything I can to help.” He walked to the morgue’s exit. “Please take a seat first; I’ll go make tea. It is all right when you sit on the tables. They were cleaned~” With these words, the man left the room.

“And this was…?” Elizabeth said, sitting down next to Ciel. Except for Sebastian who had positioned himself behind his master, Ciel had been the only one not to hesitate to sit down on one of the tables.

“Undertaker, yes,” he replied.

“Why is a forensic pathologist called ‘Undertaker’? I mean that cannot be his real name, right?”

“Because I am primarily a mortician, dearie,” the man, Undertaker, answered Elizabeth’s question when he stepped back into the room, a tray in his hand. “What I do here, I do for fun because I cannot get enough of the beauty of death.”

He offered them bone-shaped biscuits which he had stored in a jar looking like a cinerary urn, and Earl Grey poured into beakers.

 _He is like a darker version of the Mad Hatter_ , Elizabeth thought while eating one of the biscuits which were surprisingly quite delicious.

“Now then,” Undertaker started, sitting down himself, “you wanted to know about the Copycat?”

“No, I want to talk about the _other_ prostitute-killing maniac walking around Whitechapel – Leather Bib,” Ciel replied, resulting in Undertaker starting to giggle.

“Sarcasm surely runs in your family, doesn’t it? It is always so refreshing to have a Phantomhive around~”

“If you do not start telling me soon what you have found out, you can as well start working on my funeral.”

“It would be a pleasure to put you in one of my custom-made coffins, Earl, but after the numerous times you have come to me have you forgotten that my services have a price?”

“I see, so that’s how it is. You’re very good at making business, Undertaker,” Lau said, trying to sneak into the conversation like he usually did. “How much money do you want for your information?”

“ _How much money?!_ ” Undertaker exclaimed and jumped in front of Lau, startling him. His sudden movement and change in tone made Elizabeth flinch. _What a Mood Whiplash._

“ _I don’t want any of the Queen’s money!_ ” Undertaker snapped at Lau before walking back to Ciel, cradling his head in his hands. “Now, then, Earl… I only have one requirement…”

 _It has to do something with jokes!_ Elizabeth thought, eagerly watching the scene before her. _Ciel implied that, and having got to know Undertaker’s nature it is quite likely!_

“Show me a first rate laugh. If you do, no matter what you want to know, I’ll tell you!” Undertaker said with crossed arms.

_100 points to Midford House!_

“Fu, Earl, if that’s the case, let me handle this,” Lau said, stepping forward. “The sleeping tiger of the Shanghai’s New Year’s party, also referred to as my soul – this should satisfy you!”

And with a triumphant smile on his face, Lau told the lamest joke in the history of jokes in an insanely confident manner. Elizabeth was not even sure if this could still count as a joke as it had been so utterly terrible.

“It looks like he won’t talk, Lau,” Angelina said after recovering from the shock after hearing Lau’s excuse of a joke. “It can’t be helped.” She stepped forward. “Then, I, Madame Red, a beauty of high society, shall make my appearance now! If I ask him, he’ll sure be sure to tell us!”

“Madame!” Grelle yelled from the back, but Angelina already started to talk. Quickly, he covered Elizabeth’s ears, apparently knowing very well what would come now, and she saw Sebastian covering Ciel’s ears as well.

 _What could be worse than Lau’s “joke”?_ Elizabeth wondered. After an hour, Undertaker had enough of Angelina’s tale and wrapped a bandage around her mouth to make her shut up. He did the same to Lau – perhaps in the fear that he could make another “joke.”

“Thank you, Mr Sutcliff,” Elizabeth said to Grelle after he removed his hands again. He politely bowed at her.

“I guess it is your turn, Lady,” Undertaker announced, an amused smile on his lips.

“Leave her out,” Ciel interfered.

“Why should I? Let the Lady have her chance – maybe she can make me laugh?” He chuckled.

 _I am_ so _in trouble_ , Elizabeth thought. After Ciel had asked her if she knew any good jokes, she had gone through the files in her mind – and had found not a single acceptable one. All she could think of had been silly _rabbit_ jokes.

_What do you call a happy rabbit? A hop-timist!_

_What did the rabbit give his girlfriend? A 14 carrot ring!_

_What do you call a rabbit transformer? Hop-timus Prime!_

And so on.

 _I cannot tell_ any _of them._ But everyone stared at her, and her mind was blocked, and she ultimately blurted out, not forgetting to change her voice for the rabbit parts: “Comes a rabbit to a bakery and asks the baker: ‘Do you have bee sting?’ And the baker answers: ‘Yes, I do have bee sting cake.’ ‘Have to apply ointment.’”

In the silent morgue, the only one who giggled was Grelle.

_This is beyond embarrassing – hopefully, this just stays a Big Lipped Alligator Moment._

Undertaker grinned at her. “Cute but not really suitable to cause laughing. You’re the only one left, Earl – it is your turn now.”

“Damn,” Ciel mumbled, but before he could start, Sebastian stepped forward. “It can’t be helped.”

“Sebastian?!” Ciel exclaimed, puzzled, and Undertaker said: “Oh, it’s the butler’s turn now?”

“Everyone, please step outside for a moment. You absolutely must not peek inside,” Sebastian said, and they dutifully obeyed.

Elizabeth, Ciel, Angelina, Grelle, and Lau stood in front of the morgue’s entrance for only a short period before they heard Undertaker’s hysterical laughter through the thick walls.

 _What has Sebastian_ done _?_ Elizabeth asked herself when Sebastian opened the door for them and she saw Undertaker lying on the floor, his hair now covering his entire face, and holding his body in laughter.

“I have noticed that there are not enough ‘guests,’” Undertaker said after he had calmed down from his outburst and everyone else was seated on the tables again.

“Not enough?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes, not enough. Internal organs, of course. Don’t you think that the eternally sleeping ‘guests’ that lie in coffins are so cute? My hobby is to take out the organs for research.”

Immediately, Lau, Angelina, and Grelle stared at their beakers, turning white.

“They were _autoclaved_ ,” Ciel told them, annoyed.

“Ah, of course, they were,” Lau said with a knowing nod. “It is foolish to assume they weren’t.”

“You have no idea what ‘autoclaved’ means, right?”

Lau smiled confidently at him before he raised his hands. “Not at all.”

“To recite Wikipedia: ‘An autoclave is a pressure chamber used to carry out industrial processes requiring elevated temperature and pressure different from ambient air pressure. Autoclaves are used in medical applications to perform sterilization and in the chemical industry to cure coatings and vulcanize rubber and for hydrothermal synthesis.’”

Lau nodded at Ciel’s words.

“You still have no idea, right?” Ciel said, and Lau nodded. Ciel rolled his eyes. “It is a pressure chamber often used to _sterilise_ things – this means that whatever you put in them, afterwards it is cleaner than CPR depicted in movies or TV shows. And _this_ means that _no matter_ what Undertake has done to these beakers, it is safe to drink from them.”

He turned to Undertaker. “Please, just continue.”

“Hi hi, of course, Earl.

“The prostitute, Anna Walker, isn’t a whole woman anymore – because her womb is _gone_. Just like the other three.”

“Interesting,” Ciel said. “The canonical five victims of the Ripper were badly-hit but only the second’s, Annie Chapman’s, and the fifth’s, Mary Jane Kelly’s, uterus was at least partially removed. But everyone’s, except Elizabeth Stride’s, abdomen was mutilated.”

“Indeed. Apart from that, the Copycat murdered their four victims – Courtney Alizarin, Molly Marrow, Erika Weikopf, and Anna Walker – in the same exact manner as the original Ripper did.”

“This could indicate that Jack the Rip-off’s real objective is to remove the uteri of these women but, for some reason, they made it look like it is the work of a maniac, only wanting to re-enact this famous crime.”

“Perhaps they want to pin the murder on a very desperate Ripperologist?” Elizabeth suggested.

Ciel looked at her like he had forgotten that she was still here before he spoke. “A nice suggestion, but flawed. After all, this would mean that the Copycat does not only either hold a personal grudge against these women or even needs five uteri for some reason but also that they also hate a Ripperologist whom they may or may not know. However, until now, there weren’t any hints suggesting that one – or _all_ – of these overenthusiastic fanboys and wannabe detectives could be the culprit. Furthermore, if the Whitechapel Copycats indeed planned to pin the murder on a Ripperologist – don’t you think that they would have done a better job with the re-enacting? The dates of the murders are wrong, the times too. No letters have been sent so far. And, of course, there’s still the aspect of all four victims missing their uterus. A real Ripperologist wouldn’t have made such mistakes. And it’s not like it’s hard to find information on Jack the Ripper on the internet.”

“There’s something which makes me wonder: the CCTV cameras,” Elizabeth began. “London is one of the metropoles with the largest CCTV network. There are thousands of them, hidden in every corner. How could none of them have filmed the crime?”

“CCTV cameras could not prevent the bombings of July 7, 2005 – they may be everywhere, but the system is not flawless. In case of the Copycat Murders, there _were_ cameras at the crime scenes but, mysteriously, all of them malfunctioned at the time of the killing. I do not know how but they somehow managed to manipulate the system.” Ciel shook his head. “If they had used my new, improved cameras, such a thing might not have happened. I showed them to some higher-ups, but, of course, they refused my offer. I work in the dark – and do a better job than them. Of course, they would not accept it if I invaded their beloved CCTV business.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Doesn’t Funtom only sell sweets and toys?”

“Yes, it does. Designing and building electrical devices is a hobby of mine – I created my cameras during an especially boring German lesson.”

“Ciel, why am I sending you to school if you don’t learn?” Angelina said, shaking her head.

“Because you refused to let me be homeschooled so that ‘I could learn how to socialise,’” Ciel replied.

_They sound like Artemis Fowl and his mother whose name is, coincidentally, Angeline._

“Can I continue my report?” Undertaker said after a while. “Yes? Very well, hi hi.

“The Copycat may not have followed the Ripper’s moves until now, but the removal of Anna Walker’s left kidney could suggest that they will follow the original crime’s procedure more closely now.”

“And why should a cut-out kidney hint such a thing?” Angelina wanted to know.

Ciel blinked at her. “Don’t you remember? I had told you quite a lot about Jack the Ripper when you came over for dinner a few years ago.”

“You did? I guess, it slipped my mind.” Angelina shrugged.

He sighed. “After Jack the Ripper killed his fourth victim, he sent his famous letter ‘From Hell.’ Many letters have been sent by people, claiming to be the Ripper, but this particular letter is one of those which _could truly_ be from Jack the Ripper themselves. ‘From Hell’ was sent to George Lusk, the chairman of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, on October 15, 1888, alongside half a kidney because the letter states that the Ripper ate the other half of it.”

Grelle spitted out the biscuit he had just been eating into his beaker.

“Gross, Ciel,” Lau remarked. “People are eating here.”

“We are _in a morgue, sitting on operating tables, eating bone-shaped biscuits, and drinking tea out of beakers while discussing a serial murder case_.” Ciel looked at Undertaker. “Please, just continue.”

“The wombs and the kidney were removed with odd precision, signifying that no regular person could have committed these murders. Besides, if we compare the double event of November 21 to the original one of September 30, 1888, it is also evident that the killer is someone experienced. After all, just like Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes, Erika Weikopf and Anna Walker died around an hour apart from another. Unlike the original victims, Weikopf _and_ Walker were not in possession of their uteri when they were found. It is impossible for someone not familiar with the handiwork to remove them with such precision and carefulness in such a short time like our Copycat did. After all, Weikopf and Walker did not die next to each other.” Undertaker poked one of his long fingernails into Ciel’s cheek. “You should have been able to figure that out too, Earl.

“It’s very likely that the murderer is an expert – in today’s world, there are numerous people possessing this very knowledge. This information will not cut down the list of suspects. Maybe if he knew you were here, it could lure them out. They will keep committing crimes, they definitely will, unless someone stops them. Can you stop them? Aristocrat of Evil, Earl of Phantomhive?”

“The world of darkness has the world of darkness’ rules. They wouldn’t murder random people for no reason. There must be an influence manipulating them from behind,” Ciel responded to Undertaker’s words. “I won’t be scared. No matter what tricks I have to use, I will solve this crime.

“Thanks for the tea and biscuits and providing information, Undertaker. It is time for us to go now.”

 

 

***

 

 

It was already quite dark when they returned to the townhouse after leaving Lau in East End, and right before they could get out of the car Ciel’s mobile phone rang. He got it out of his coat pocket, and Elizabeth leaned in a bit to take a glimpse at the message he had received:

**Come to my house, ASAP! S7616.**

“Aunt Anne, we cannot discuss the information we have received just now,” Ciel said to Madame Red, putting away his phone. “I have to go to McMillan’s now.”

“Can I come with you?” Elizabeth asked.

“You should take her with you,” Angelina interjected before Ciel could say anything. “She is part of your team now, and it wouldn’t be gentlemanlike at all to leave her out.”

“Wouldn’t it be more ‘gentlemanlike’ to bring her home before it gets even darker than it already is?”

Angelina just wanted to reply something when Ciel’s mobile rang again. He took it out and read the message.

**Just take Lizzy with you. No time to argue with DD.**

_I barely knew McMillan but… What_ is _he? A psych?_

Ciel sighed and put his phone away again. “You can accompany me, Lady Midford. Good evening, Aunt Anne, Mr Sutcliff.”

 

 

***

 

 

“There you are!” McMillan greeted Ciel and Elizabeth when they entered his house, closing the door behind them.

The McMillan house was an old Victorian building, flanked by similar looking edifices. The façade was greyish-white, but lovingly raised flowers left and right on the way to the entrance, a friendly doormat telling you to ring the bell and visit them as well as colourful curtains hanging in the windows let the old house shine with life.

“My parents are not at home, and Niall and Nuala are at a sleepover,” McMillan informed them while they took off their coats.

“How is the party organisation going?” Elizabeth wanted to know.

“It’s going well. Thanks for asking. And, Lizzy, how was meeting Undertaker?”

“He’s a very interesting person,” Elizabeth replied.

McMillan chuckled. “Yes, he is. And he bakes the best biscuits. I always ask him to give me the recipe, but he keeps refusing.”

 _Undertaker’s cookie recipe is something even_ McMillan _does not know? What is happening to the world as we know it?_

“Lizzy, you can give me your coat, I will put it away for you.”

Elizabeth handed it to him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. C?”

_So cute. They call each other by the first letter of their names._

Ciel also gave him his jacket, and in the few minutes McMillan was gone to hang up the coats somewhere, Elizabeth could take in the inner beauty of the house.

Everything about it was narrow. In every corner were books, books, and more books; here and there were toys. Everything was stuffed with signs of life, and still, Elizabeth did not feel claustrophobic – the house might be narrow, but the building’s warmth made you forget how small everything was. It was such a stark contrast to the wide and cold Phantomhive townhouse – just like the vibrant McMillan was the opposite of the cynical Ciel.

They climbed the stairs to McMillan’s room after he had returned. His room was just like the others – narrow and crammed to the ceiling.

“So… why did you tell us to come, N?” Ciel wanted to know, sitting down on McMillan’s revolving chair.

“There are two things I want to talk about,” McMillan said, putting a piece of paper and a box on his desk. Elizabeth moved closer to join the boys at the table.

McMillan folded out the piece of paper and revealed that it was a map with four crosses on it which had all been connected. “The first thing is this.

“While pondering over the case, I got the sudden idea to mark on a map where the crimes happened. When I marked the places, it did not come to my mind but, naturally, I had to connect the crosses – how could I _not_ do it after all these maths lessons with Mr Boone? He literally screams at us to do this whenever we work with graphs.

“Well, I unconsciously connected the dots, and when I looked at it again, I noticed something odd.” McMillan ran his right index finger over the red line. “Do you see that? It could be nothing more but a coincidence, but when you see the linked marks, you see that these women were killed where they were killed in order to form a certain letter: ‘J.’”

“This could be helpful to determine the last crime scene,” Ciel said, and McMillan nodded. “But the ‘J’ looks a bit strange – the upper line is a little bit too round.”

McMillan nodded again. “Yes, I noticed that too. And then I experimented a little bit and…” He turned the map upside down. Ciel’s and Elizabeth’s eyes widened at the same time.

“Apparently, our culprit does not only want to carve in stone that he is indeed a copycat of Jack the Ripper but also wants to give you a message: ‘I know that you are there, Ciel Phantomhive,’” McMillan spoke out what all of them had thought.

“A game,” Ciel said, clenching his hands. “This is a game to them.”

“The Copycat is mocking you,” Elizabeth pointed out.

“They are, but I will not lose this game – I never lose a game.”

McMillan nodded. “You should see how often Ciel beats me at chess or Uno, Lizzy. And don’t get me started at Cluedo.”

“And what is the second thing you wanted to tell us?” Ciel wanted to know, and McMillan raised the box. “This was sent to me this afternoon.”

Elizabeth and Ciel shared a quick glance – _The letter and the kidney_ – before they turned their attention back to McMillan who opened the box.

“I know what you are thinking – it has to be the Lusk letter, how can it _not_ be the Lusk letter? I was thinking the exact same thing when the postwoman gave me a package without a sender, but I have to disappoint you. Well, at least, sort of.” He showed them the content of the box – a picture printed on a double sheet. Ciel took it out and put it on the desk.

On the right, the picture showed the image of half a kidney; on the left, there was the photographed letter “From Hell.”

**From hell.**

**Mr Lusk,**

**Sor**

**I send you half the Kidne I took from one woman prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nise. I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer**

**signed**

**Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk**

“At least, this is more readable than the original letter,” Ciel remarked.

“It is,” McMillan replied. “Whoever our killer is, he or she might have copied the real Ripper’s letter with all its terrible spelling and grammar, but they did not have the heart to mimic Jack’s terrible handwriting.”

“But where is the _real_ letter?” Elizabeth said. “The only reason I see for the Copycat not exchanging the name of the letter’s recipient is when the recipient’s name _is_ Mr Lusk.”

“Hm. Possible. I will ask Sebastian to find everyone in London named Lusk and ask them if they received the actual package,” said Ciel.

“Uh, is that not a quite inconvenient and time-consuming procedure?”

“Sebastian can do that,” McMillan assured her. “He is one hell of a butler.

“There’s one more thing I want to point out.” He tapped on the bottom left corner of the paper on which the letter had been written. “It’s very small, but it is still a clue – a very small clue the Copycat themselves have missed: A tiny, tiny emblem belonging to Aleistor Chamber.”

Something clicked in Elizabeth’s head. “Aleistor Chamber? The Viscount of Druitt?”

McMillan nodded.

“I have once heard my mother talking about him,” she said excitedly. “She said ‘Which moron gave the Viscount of Druitt a degree in medicine? How could we end up living in a world in which even the biggest of idiots can become physicians?’

“The Copycat cut out the wombs of these women with the precision of an expert – and Chamber _has_ a master degree in medicine. He certainly qualifies as a suspect.”

“This is a huge mistake on the killer’s part,” Ciel said. “And we cannot be certain that this is not a red herring. But a clue is a clue, and we should follow every one we can find. I heard that Chamber’s hosting a party Sunday evening, but you need an invitation to get inside.” He looked at McMillan. “Do you think you can get us a handful of these invitations until Sunday or do I have to ask Sebastian? After all, you still have preparations to do.”

McMillan shook his head. “This is a child’s play; it won’t take too much time and is even a nice warm-up.” He grinned. “There’s nothing easier than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially, I wanted to base the investigation and the crime closer to what happened in the manga, but then I read The Name of the Star by Maureen Johnson which has a similar premise to this fanfiction - JTR murders in modern day London! - and was reminded of all the things Yana Toboso had left out during the Jack the Ripper/Red Butler Arc. I had known them before starting The Name of the Star, but only remembered them while reading it. Whatever, this made me spontaneously decide to change my plan for the course of this story in order to incorporate more facts and details. I guess, if I hadn't done that, this chapter would have been much shorter XD
> 
> While reading chapter three, LW pointed out that there's not much Sebastian in my story. This time, there's not much of him again - mostly because, in my head, this story centers around Ciel, Lizzy, and McMillan and I keep leaving him out because of that, but I will try to let him appear more often.
> 
> Lizzy's bunny joke - does anyone know it? It's a German joke which I translated to make it even more awkward XD There are more of these jokes but they don't work well in English.
> 
> One more thing: It's quite evil but I have named the Copycat's victims after fictional characters I hate or after awful authors. One of them even has the surname of a particularly nasty person I know from school XD Except that, can you guess after whom they were named? :3
> 
> See you sometime :D


	7. Side Story 1: Heartfelt Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I (RT) started this for Cielizzy Week 2017 (Day 5: Children or Modern) - but as I keep seeing these Appreciation Week Announcements faaaaaar to late, I couldn't finish it on time. Ever since it collected dust on my hard drive until I decided to get it out again and wrap it up because I was writing far too much depressing stuff lately and needed a break from it.
> 
> The story is set _after the second arc_. But as this chapter's already done and the sixth regular chapter still in the making, I decided to upload it still to give you something while you wait for the actual next chapter. Hope this is all right.

_“It’s not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.”_

― Mother Teresa

* * *

 

 

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – January 2017**

 

 

When Elizabeth Midford entered the Detective Agency, Ciel was sitting at his desk, entirely focused on his laptop. She had often seen him like this when coming to the Agency, but what was actually shocking here was right next to him was an untouched piece of strawberry shortcake. Unless they were not in the middle of a zombie invasion, Ciel Phantomhive _never_ ignored a piece of cake. Especially, not a piece of his favourite one.

“Is everything all right?” Elizabeth asked him, genuinely worried. She did not know Ciel for a very long time now, had only met him in early November, but she already knew him well enough to know that something was fundamentally wrong when he did not touch his sweets.

Ciel raised his head and blinked at her. “Oh, it’s you. I did not notice you coming in,” he said, slightly confused, before returning his attention to the screen.

_This is not good. Cute Shortie’s perceptive ability is usually outstanding – he always notices it when someone enters or leaves the room._

Elizabeth walked in front of Ciel’s desk. “Ciel,” she said, “is everything all right? Are you not feeling well?”

“Yes, of course,” he eventually answered, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Why should everything not be all right?”

“Because you are _glued to your laptop_ ,” Elizabeth replied.

Ciel, apparently not having heard her, did not answer and simply continued to do whatever he did. She sighed, and, suddenly, she had a brilliant idea. Elizabeth took the plate with his cake and stepped away from the desk. Ciel looked up the instance she let the fork sink into the cake.

“Hey!” he shouted, his eyes widening. “That’s not yours!”

“But you weren’t touching it! The cake sat there all sad and alone. It would have been terrible to waste it,” Elizabeth said and cut off a part of the cake with the fork. Immediately, Ciel jumped up from his chair and ran towards her, but she dodged him and ran towards the desk with the plate still in her hands and a smile on her lips. Ciel tried to stop her from getting to his laptop and barricaded the way, but to his surprise, Elizabeth simply _jumped_ over the table and landed gracefully on the other side. Before Ciel could stop her, she glimpsed at the monitor.

Elizabeth had expected files of a case which was greatly bothering him. Instead, Ciel had looked at a website for _birthday presents_ all time long. Bewildered, she looked at him. Ciel let himself fall onto the sofa and ran a hand through his hair.

“It is his birthday next week,” he muttered, and then louder, “Can I get my cake back?”

With wide eyes, Elizabeth handed the plate over, and Ciel started grumpily eating his cake. “You were behaving so weirdly because it is McMillan’s birthday next week?” she said. _He is always so grumpy and aloof; I did not expect this in the slightest. But Cute Shortie seems to really treasure his best friend._ Elizabeth smiled.

Ciel mumbled something and continued to eat his cake. “He always gets me something for my birthday even though I keep telling him that he shouldn’t. And this makes me obliged to give him something too. Especially after what happened earlier this month. It is bothersome.”

“Why don’t you just ask Sebastian to buy him a present in your stead if you have problems finding one on your own?” Elizabeth wanted to know, sitting down on Ciel’s ridiculously comfortable office chair.

“I tried, but he only laughed and said ‘So the Young Master cannot even buy a gift for his best friend?’” Ciel answered between two furious bites.

_Somehow, I can see Sebastian in these words._

“But if you have such a hard time finding a suitable gift – why don’t you just buy him _anything_? Something standard like chocolate, or some clichéd boy gift like a video game,” she suggested. “After all, you have tried to find something else, something only for McMillan, and, in the end, the thought is what counts.”

Ciel did not reply anything to that, and Elizabeth’s smile grew. _His dedication to finding a nice present is really cute._

“I have an idea,” she said, beaming. “How about I help you? I love buying gifts because I love to see their happy faces when they unwrap it and see what I got them. Also, now that I know that it is McMillan’s birthday next week, I can get him something too. We can go on Saturday because we don’t have school and thus have the entire day for ourselves.”

He did not answer, and she kept beaming at him, but, eventually, Ciel sighed and said, “Okay, Lady Midford. Let us go shopping.”

 

 

***

 

 

Elizabeth hummed while getting dressed. For today, she chose to wear a white blouse with sleeves made of lace and a pale pink skirt with white tights. When she was done, she curled her hair and carefully put it into twin tails like she always did, but, today, she put even more effort into making her hair look nice. Today, she even put on a little bit of make-up.

Quickly checking one last time in a mirror that everything was fitting, Elizabeth grabbed her light brown coat and backpack and ran down the stairs. Elizabeth was almost out of the door when someone called her.

“Are you going out, Lizzy?”

Immediately, she stopped in her movement and turned around. Her elder brother, Edward Midford, was standing by the stairs.

“Yes, I am going shopping,” Elizabeth answered him.

“With Paula?”

 _If I say that I am going shopping with_ Ciel _, he will certainly freak out._

“Yes, with Paula,” she lied, smiling.

Edward sighed. “I almost got a heartache when I saw you are going out so dressed up – I assumed that you were going out to have a date. Perhaps even with that little nuisance from the Detective Agency even if I know very well that you would never do anything like that – especially not with _him_. But if you are only going out shopping with Paula, it is okay. Seems like I have overreacted.”

“I am not going out on a date,” Elizabeth firmly said, and even though this was not a lie, she hoped that he did not see her cheeks becoming rosy. “I can dress up whenever I want. Not only because of some boy, Eddie.”

Edward smiled at her. “Yes, you are right. Have fun,” he said and walked upstairs.

 

 

***

 

 

Before the actual shopping started, Ciel invited Elizabeth to an early lunch as his way of saying “thank you” for helping him to find a suitable gift for McMillan. Elizabeth was not very hungry, but who could say “no” to free food?

They had met at the Phantomhive townhouse, and Sebastian had brought them to a restaurant before returning to the townhouse. Elizabeth was not quite sure if Sebastian had left them alone because he wanted Ciel to really do this on his own or if there was another reason for that. After all, Ciel was usually quite inseparable from his butler.

The restaurant Ciel had chosen was located in a strange but beautiful place – St Katharine’s Docks, East Smithfield. The Docks were just east of the Tower of London and Tower Bridge, on the north side of the Thames. It was a small, rather secluded and quiet place with cafés, restaurants, and other shops built around the small port. Numerous footbridges pointed into the greenish water which was filled with ships of all shapes and sizes. Street lamps in black and gold stood everywhere, and colourful flower arrangements hung from them. On this bleak January day, these flowers were refreshing specks of colour, and Elizabeth told herself to come here again in summer when the trees and bushes around the water were wearing leaves, and the sun was painting the water gold.

They passed by numerous shops and restaurants like St Katharine’s Docks Café or John Harding, a hairdresser for “ladies and gents,” until Ciel stopped in front of a restaurant called “Zizzi.”

Elizabeth threw a questioning look at him, but he did not notice it and held the door open for her.

 

 

 _When I come back in summer, I have to sit in the outside area_ , Elizabeth made a mental note while eating her ridiculously delicious dessert which was called “Chocolate Melt.” It was a dream of chocolate pudding with vanilla ice cream.

Between entering the astonishingly beautiful restaurant and her first bite into her starter, Elizabeth had fallen in love with this hidden gem of an Italian restaurant.

Ciel had explained to her when she had tried to eat her garlic bread with mozzarella like a civilised human being and not a wild, starving animal having tasted ambrosia for the first time that there were more Zizzi restaurants in London, but he liked this one the best because it was rather hard to find.

The conversation with Ciel was quite nice, albeit silence often fell upon them, but, surprisingly, it never felt awkward. Elizabeth was not absolutely certain about that, but she assumed that the reason for the lack of awkwardness laid in the fact that they were both enjoying their meals too much. Especially, when it was time for dessert, they did not exchange any words while Elizabeth savoured her pudding and Ciel his baked lemon and raspberry cheesecake. From time to time, she lifted her gaze though to look at him.

_Only he can look so unbelievably happy while eating cake._

 

 

After around an hour, they were done and ready for the actual shopping.

“What does McMillan like?” Elizabeth asked Ciel while they walked to the next train station. “What are his favourite things?”

“He likes mangas and animes, and often watches them through the night,” Ciel answered, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. “And he loves playing video games. His favourites are visual novels. They are not very popular in Europe and the USA as people there prefer games in which you are more active – you mostly click through texts in visual novels, and here and there you can choose answers, that’s all –, but they are very well liked in Japan, so they are not often translated and thus hard to get your hands on. But if you know the right ways, you can still get a patched version. He does not only play visual novels though, the likes the more regular games too. Like _Final Fantasy_ , _Call of Duty_ , or _Legend of Zelda_.”

“McMillan does not look like someone who would play _Call of Duty_ ,” Elizabeth pointed out. “He looks more like a textbook book nerd.”

“He likes books too. His house is full of them, and he has read at least half of them.”

“Yes, I have seen it. His house looks on the verge of exploding because of that.”

“His mother is a lawyer, and his father is a librarian, and his entire family loves books. Even the twins.”

“I see. What else does he like?”

Elizabeth almost did not notice Ciel hesitating. _Almost_.

“He has a model railway,” he said in a low voice.

“Why are you talking about it so quietly?” she wanted to know, blinking at him in curiosity.

“Because he does not like it when I tell anyone about it. He thinks it could damage his reputation if others found out that he has a love for model railways.”

Elizabeth smiled at Ciel. _Cute Shortie is even cuter than I’ve thought._

“But everybody already thinks that he is a nerd,” she pointed out, and Ciel shrugged. “Ask him. It’s his way of thinking, not mine.”

“Here, let me help you,” Elizabeth said, seeing him rubbing his hands together again. Quickly, she took his hands and laid a pair of light pink gloves with white bobbles into them. Ciel stared at his hands as if they were holding something disgusting like a dissected frog.

“I lend them to you,” she said, smiling. “My hands are not cold, so I don’t need them.”

“Thanks, Elizabeth, but I think that–” Ciel started, but she cut him off by grabbing his hands and putting the gloves on them.

“There you are!” she exclaimed with a grin and started walking again, feeling him scowling behind her.

 

 

They took the underground train, and in almost half an hour, they were in Covent Garden. Then, they went to Leadenhall Market and Camden Market. Every time, Elizabeth was astonished by their beauties. She fell in love with the glass roof and the many, many tiny shops of Covent Garden and begged Ciel to stay a little bit longer to see the performance of a magician in front of St Paul’s Church.

Leadenhall Market’s beauty of red, white, dark green, and gold took away Elizabeth’s breath, and she could not focus on shopping. Instead, she grabbed Ciel’s arm and pointed out interesting things she saw, dragging him here and there with stars in her eyes.

On their way to Camden Market, Elizabeth apologised to Ciel for her behaviour in Leadenhall Market, but he only said that “at least, you did not break anything.”

In Camden Market – first they went to the “actual” one –, Elizabeth was amazed of the liveliness everywhere. No matter where you looked, there were little booths. Some sold t-shirts – mostly fakes as Ciel told her, but there was also a small shop in which an Asian woman painted t-shirts herself and even took commissions. Other shops sold jewellery, cuddly toys, glass plates, anime and manga merchandise, very old books – there was a shop selling, among other things, a Bible with a sign “If you touch it, you have to buy it” as if it was so old that it would crumble under your fingers –, old records, clothes, and numerous other things. Elizabeth would have _loved_ to buy the entire Market.

When they were done going through the “actual” Camden Market, they went to the “small” Camden Market. There, they walked through the countless booths selling clothes, mostly t-shirts.

“Look at this one, Ciel!” Elizabeth exclaimed with a giggle and pointed at a white t-shirt with a penguin saying “I am fucking freezing” on it.

“I saw a better one,” Ciel meant and led her to a t-shirt with three men on it. The first one was Bryan Cranston in his role of Walter White from _Breaking Bad_ and next to him “knows chemistry” had been written. The second one was Jim Parsons as Sheldon Lee Cooper from _The Big Bang Theory_ and next to him were the words “knows physics.” The last one was Kit Harington as Jon Snow from _Game of Thrones_ , and next to him it said: “knows nothing.” Elizabeth burst out laughing, but quickly put her hands in front of her mouth, her cheeks slowly turning pink.

“I did not know that you watch such TV shows,” Ciel said, a faint, amused smile on his lips. “I thought you would only watch romance or princess shows and movies.”

“I _don’t_ ,” Elizabeth replied. “I am on Tumblr – you get basically spammed by fandoms there. Of course, I would pick up one thing or two from every fandom I’ve encountered.”

They quickly let this topic fall and continued to search. Elizabeth suggested buying McMillan a t-shirt on which “Lord of the Cats – The Furrllowship of the Ring” had been written. It even had the _Lord of the Ring_ characters reimagined as cats on it.

Ciel shook his head. “I had bought him this t-shirt last year. He doesn’t have it anymore, however.”

She frowned, putting the t-shirt away. “Why? McMillan doesn’t seem like the type who throws away presents or re-gifts them”

“You are right, and he didn’t do neither of these things.”

“But what happened to it, then?”

Ciel turned away, fixing his eyes on a “Keep Calm and Call Sherlock” t-shirt. “Sebastian stole it right after he saw it.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “Mr Sebastian is a very odd person.”

He looked at her and didn’t say anything for a moment. “Yes, yes, he is.”

 

 

***

 

 

Even after having gone to hundreds of shops, Elizabeth and Ciel still hadn’t found anything nice for McMillan, and thus decided to head to Piccadilly. In their despair, they briefly entered one of the numerous souvenir shops for tourists which were filled with emoji pillows, jumpers saying “I love London,” little Big Bens, keychains, postcards, clocks, jumpers saying “adihash #givesyouspeed,” “The bitch is back,” and “I love weed” with a weed leaf replacing the “love” – the jumper with a cartoonish Nutella on it was cute though. There were even shishas and green cannabis lollipops. After seeing the lollipops, Ciel and Elizabeth quickly left the souvenir shop and headed to Waterstones.

There, they split up for a while as Ciel wanted to go upstairs first and Elizabeth wanted to quickly go through the “stationery shop” which was part of the bookstore. Elizabeth could have gone through the postcards, notebooks, booklets, papers, and stickers forever as most of them were incredibly beautiful. Unfortunately, she couldn’t because buying these things wasn’t today’s plan.

When she saw a “365 days diary” with a light blue cover and edges sprayed in silver, she took it. McMillan was the organiser of them – without him, the Agency would fall into chaos. He simply loved to record everything and sort things into alphabetical orders. A “365 days diary” whose purpose was to make you write something inside it for 365 days straight – it did not have to be much, a few sentences were enough – was, therefore, quite perfect for McMillan. Elizabeth also took some stickers in the shape of glasses, which she could put on the cover of the notebook, and another notebook. This one was thinner and of a burgundy colour, and the only reason Elizabeth had chosen it was the funny description on top of the notebook’s cover in white: _“I can’t sleep: A journal for passing the time when insomnia strikes and my brain is circling in on itself, cannibalizing the trivialities of the day and exaggerating the ticking of the clock, reminding me that every minute spent awake is another minute to when I’ll have to get up, though many of the great artists and sages were insomniacs and that was part of how they got so much done, so if I can’t sleep I might as well write and channel my misery into something productive.”_ With every line this sentence claimed, the letters shrunk in size. It was terribly funny and more or less perfect for McMillan as Ciel had told Elizabeth that he liked to pull an all-nighter.

She purchased the two notebooks and the stickers, put them into her black backpack and went to find Ciel. She found him in the manga area, flipping through one while looking rather puzzled.

“What is it about?” Elizabeth asked, positioning herself next to him.

Ciel put back the manga. “It was a weird story set in the late 1880s about a boy with an eye-patch and his battle butler.”

“Your biography?”

He looked rather unamused. “Definitely not.”

“I am sorry. Of course, I wanted to say: Your biography – in historical London?”

Ciel’s scowl deepened. “The protagonist was late and went to school with a waffle in his mouth – you would never find _me_ in such a clichéd situation.”

“Why not? I think it would look cute.”

“You think everything is cute.”

She shook her head. “No. I am just trying to find a little bit of cuteness in everything, but that doesn’t mean that I think everything’s cute. After all, no matter how long you search, in some things and people you simply don’t find anything cute at all. Like Voldemort. Who would find Hitler 2.0 without a nose cute?”

He nodded.

“What is the manga called?” Elizabeth asked.

“Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know – perhaps, it could be helpful for the future?” She grinned at him, and Ciel walked away.

“Hey, wait for me, Ciel!” Elizabeth said, hurrying after him.

 

 

***

 

 

Even after another few hours of searching, even after going in and out of more shops, Ciel wasn’t able to find anything for McMillan. Now, it had got too late to go on, and it was time to bring Elizabeth home.

Sebastian let them out a few streets from her house, and Ciel walked Elizabeth to almost her door – after all, she didn’t want anyone to see that she had lied.

“I am sorry that I couldn’t help you,” Elizabeth said to Ciel right before they parted. _He has looked crestfallen the entire day even though he did his best to conceal it._

She briefly hugged him. “Sorry.”

Ciel shook his head when she let go of him. “It was always rather hard to find N anything nice.”

“Uh…” _I have no idea what to say. I am so sorry._ “I think it’s time to say goo–” Elizabeth began, but cut herself off when she saw Ciel reaching into his coat pocket and taking out a white alpaca cuddly toy with a red bow.

He held it out for her and averted his gaze. “You stared at it in Camden Market.”

_This is his way of saying “thank you.”_

With a soft smile on her lips, Elizabeth took the toy, and Ciel turned around and left. “I wish you a good night!” she called after him.

She watched Ciel until he vanished around a corner. Elizabeth looked at the alpaca in her hands – she _had_ stared at it when they were in Camden Market, but she hadn’t bought it because she hadn’t wanted to buy anything for herself today. Ciel must have secretly bought it for her when they had split up and walked around on their own.

_I really want him to find the perfect present for McMillan._

With determination and an idea running through her boy, Elizabeth walked towards the Midford Villa.

 

 

***

 

 

Ciel woke up to noise filling the townhouse. Sleepily, he rolled to the side and glanced at his clock. Today was Sunday which meant that he and the servants didn’t get up before nine o’clock, but when he looked at the clock on his bedside cabinet, it showed half past seven.

 _What is going on?_ Ciel thought and sat up the instance Sebastian entered the room.

“What is going on?” he repeated his question aloud while Sebastian helped him to get dressed. “What is the reason for this commotion so early in the morning?”

“A guest rang the bell at seven o’clock.”

“Who the hell would visit us at seven o’clock on a Sunday? The local pastor wanting to force us to attend his mass? No, that is impossible. He would have probably burned down the moment he stepped through the entrance door.”

Sebastian chuckled. “It wasn’t Pastor Verlac who paid us a visit – it was Lady Elizabeth.”

Ciel blinked at him. _Green Eyes…?_

“What is her reason for coming? And why so early?” he asked, fully dressed and heading with Sebastian to the parlour.

“Why don’t you ask her that yourself, Young Master?”

He opened the door to the drawing room, and as soon as Ciel stepped into it, he saw Elizabeth sitting by the table and surrounded by masses of coloured paper, stickers, scissors, glue, glitter, different kind of markers and pens.

“Good morning, Ciel,” she said, beaming at him, and Ciel knew that today would be a long day.

_Goodbye, Sunday rest._

 

 

***

 

 

McMillan carefully unwrapped his present.

It was Wednesday – and the Agency smelled of the chocolate cake Elizabeth had baked for McMillan’s birthday today.

“You didn’t have to buy me anything, Lizzy,” he said, taking awfully long to unwrap the gift wrap with a pair of scissors and a ruler.

_This looks like a surgery._

Elizabeth sat down the couch opposite from the one on which McMillan was sitting. “Of course, I had! Everyone deserves presents on their birthday. And when I found out that yours was around the corner, I couldn’t help myself. And I love giving gifts – I simply love it when people unwrap them and finally hold what I have bought them in their hands.”

McMillan was finally done, and his eyes widened behind his glasses when he took the “365 days diary” in his hands. “Oh, it is so pretty!” he said, examining the silver edges and the pair of glasses she had put on the blue cover; and he laughed when he read what stood on the other notebook.

“Oh, they are great! Thank you, Lizzy!” McMillan exclaimed, giving Elizabeth a brief hug.

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

McMillan folded the gift wrap. “I wonder where Ciel is; I’ve missed him the whole day – I don’t want to cut the cake before he arrives.” He smiled at Elizabeth. “And thanks again for the cake. I am not much of a cake maniac like C – I prefer my cucumber and jelly sandwiches – but I still greatly appreciate it.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “You’re welcome,” she said, and the door to the Agency flew open. Ciel entered the room, his hair dishevelled and a clumsily wrapped present under his arms. He clapped the door shut behind him and put the present on the side table before letting himself fall into the sofa at the table’s head. Elizabeth smiled at him. _Seems like someone stayed up late to finish his gift._

McMillan blinked at the strange present in front of him and looked at his friend. “Hi, C. Uh… is that for me?”

“No, it’s for the other birthday kid today – Theodosius the Great. Happy 1670th birthday, Theo.”

McMillan grinned and started his second surgery for the day. This one went faster than the last because Ciel had wrapped it so poorly.

In McMillan’s face shone puzzlement a huge, bleak looking memorandum book, on which the name of their Agency had been written, appeared underneath the wrapping paper.

“Uh… C…? Did you give me… decorated work for my birthday?”

Ciel scowled at him. “If you don’t want it, you can give it back to me.”

“But is it work?”

“Why don’t you flip it open and see for yourself?”

“No matter how much I love my work here at the Agency, I don’t want to look at work right now… and…”

Elizabeth couldn’t listen to that anymore and opened the book for McMillan whose jaw dropped when he saw the colourful inside of the dark grey book.

“That is… that is…”

“A scrapbook,” Ciel said boredly. “‘Scrapbooking is a method, an art for preserving, presenting, arranging personal and family history in the form of a book, box, card. Typical memorabilia include photographs, printed media, and artwork. Scrapbook albums are often decorated and frequently contain extensive journaling. Scrapbooking is a hobby commonly practiced in many parts of the world.’ That’s what Wikipedia has to say about it.”

“I didn’t know that you have such a weird hobby, C.” McMillan looked up from the book and stared at him. “You _are_ Ciel Phantomhive, right? And not some kind of imposter?”

Ciel’s scowl deepened. “ _Of course_ , I am Ciel Phantomhive. That’s my one and only name.”

“I cannot believe you have made a scrapbook about our agency!” Happily, McMillan flipped through the pages. “Look! The Viola Fleming Rabbit Abduction Case! The Not Really Beauty Pageant Scandal! The Case of the Missing Things!” He turned over the pages. “Look, Lizzy! The Whitechapel Copycat Case! The Curry Conspiracy Case!” McMillan looked through the pages until he arrived at pages and pages of emptiness.

“Uh… Ciel – why is this scrapbook mostly empty? Did you give me half a gift?”

Ciel sighed. “There are pages left for future cases to come.”

McMillan smiled before he stood up and fetched three glasses and filled them with Dr Pepper. He gave each Elizabeth and Ciel a glass before he raised his.

“For future cases to come!”

Ciel and Elizabeth looked at each other, and she smiled at him. Then, they clinked their glasses together with McMillan’s.

“For future cases to come!” Elizabeth joined in enthusiastically, and Ciel only mumbled it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this silly side story.
> 
> And have you seen that I've uploaded another Cielizzy story? It the songfiction collection project I had once talked of. It's called "Brave Enough."
> 
> Here's the synopsis:  
>  _"In past, present, and future, I love you."_  
>  She loved a boy doomed to die. He loved a girl for whom he should have never fallen.  
> She could heal him. He could strengthen her.  
> They could be each other's anchor in their seas of tears, lies, and death.  
> But a wall keeps separating them, and, slowly, they are losing each other in the wide sea of their hearts.
> 
> You can check it out if you like :)
> 
> Ah, and before I forget it! I made a tumblr for this FF! It's called, who would have guessed it, thestarsofthenight.tumblr.com  
> You can find all sorts of extra stuff there!
> 
> Hope you liked this little slide-in-chapter, and see you next time :)


	8. Fun with Holidays: Lemon Meringue Pie Day (August 15)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I’ve written some “Fun with Holidays” extras for one of my other FFs, _Watchdog of the Queen_ , I wanted to write something for _The Stars of the Night_ too! I am late as always though.
> 
> TSotN is a Ciel-Elizabeth (and, well, McMillan)-centric FF, but this extra is all about Angelina and Ciel (and cake and baking) because, well, in my timeline, it’s pretty hard to fit in August holidays.
> 
> I've actually planned to make a "future segment" (the segment you can read here is the "past" one), have even started it but I thought over finishing and adding it to this extra and decided against it. You might get to read it... eventually.
> 
> The next thing I’ll post for TSotN is (hopefully) the next actual chapter. ^^’  
> (I am terribly sorry for the delay, for not updating in so long. I've had a million other things to do, and for some reason, I have quite the problems with Chapter 6...)

_“Cake for later, cake as a way of life.”_

― Laini Taylor, _Dreams of Gods & Monsters_

* * *

 

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – August 2015**

 

 

She blinked it away, shoved her thoughts away – but when she was dreaming, when she was careless for even a second, she could feel the pain through her body, could remember the feeling of her heart being torn apart when her sister announced her engagement.

Her engagement to the man _she_ loved.

So many years had passed, and Angelina Dalles’ still felt the pain in her bones, in her heart.

So much had come and gone – her sister, her brother-in-law, her husband, her unborn child… they had all gone away only a month apart.

Her nephew Ciel had gone too, but he had returned – had returned different, changed; had returned as a reminder of what she could never have, of what she had given up for others to be happy.

But no matter what, he was still the only family Angelina had left.

However, after returning after a month of darkness, Ciel had distanced himself from his family. Angelina visited him as often as she could, always watching over him as she was his legal guardian now. She protected him from the press eager to tear the story of the fire out of his traumatised, scarred hands. She distracted him from his Watchdog duties by taking him to amusement parks and supported him during his missions.

Angelina was always by his side – and still, Ciel didn’t allow her to get closer to him. She had seen him grow up – but watching someone growing up was easier than raising them by yourself. Especially, if said person was a Phantomhive.

Today, Ciel was at school even though it was Saturday and in the middle of the summer holidays.

“Crime is never on holidays,” Ciel had told her when she had asked him on the first day of the summer break why he was going to school – or, more accurately, to his detective agency’s HQ which could be found inside his school.

Last year, Angelina had proudly enrolled her nephew into Weston College, a prestigious British school every Phantomhive before Ciel had attended – and the place where Angelina had first met Ciel’s father, Vincent.

Ciel had been home-schooled for his last year in primary school, and when it had come to light that he would continue his education at Weston, the media had gone crazy. Angelina had feared that Ciel would never be able to make some genuine friends in this chaos. Not that her stubborn nephew had even tried to make friends. But then, the pet rabbit of one of Ciel’s classmates had been abducted and he had helped to find him – and this incident had helped Ciel to find a friend: A boy named McMillan who had sat next to him for quite a while had gathered his courage shortly afterwards to talk to Ciel, curious to find out more about Ciel’s deduction skills. And the months had passed and they had become friends and opened a detective agency at Weston – “McMillan & Phantomhive Detective Agency – Chocolate for Investigating.”

It had been hard for Ciel to adjust to his new life after the fire although he did his best to cover it up. That’s why Angelina had been extremely joyous when Ciel had told her about McMillan and the agency, was grateful to McMillan for wanting to be Ciel’s friend – but her joy had only lasted for a short while until sadness caught up to her and Angelina started to wonder how happy her sister, Rachel, would have been if she had found out that her little boy was doing so well despite everything.

Rachel had married the man Angelina loved but, deep down, buried in sadness and pain, Angelina had never stopped loving her sister.

And no day passed without missing her.

Angelina shook her head and added an egg to the mixture of butter, flour, and icing sugar. In a little bit more than two hours, Ciel and McMillan would come back, and until then, she wanted to finish the cake.

Two weeks ago, the Phantomhive townhouse had been partially damaged in a Watchdog affair, causing Ciel and his servants to move in with Angelina. At first, she had thoroughly enjoyed her house suddenly being so full of life and having her nephew so close by her side but with time, she became wearier and wearier. Ciel’s servants which he had collected and employed in the year after his sudden return were terribly clumsy and not very suitable for the jobs to which they had been assigned. His butler, Sebastian Michaelis, was a nuisance to Angelina’s own servants as he managed to single-handedly make them all jobless. Lastly, Ciel had taken custody over Angelina’s study, and he didn’t do anything else than meeting McMillan at the agency in the forenoon and working on Watchdog cases in the afternoon except when McMillan came over like today.

More than once, Angelina had wanted to kick them out but, every day, she came back home after a long work day and was met with new warmth and laughter, albeit there were screams too, and knew that she would miss this chaos as soon as they were gone and hoped that they would stay as long as the repairs took.

Angelina whizzed the mixture to which she had added a tablespoon of water too before rolling it into a ball.

As children, Angelina and Rachel had started to bake together. At first, they had almost set the kitchen on fire but with time, they had become more and more skilled and adept at creating wonderful confections. After the car incident which had taken away the lives of Angelina’s husband and unborn child, she hadn’t baked anything anymore – then, one day, Rachel had proposed to her to bake something together again on Ciel’s birthday. But it had never come about as the fire had torn everything apart – from the manor’s walls to lives and families and dreams. Dreams and wishes.

While rolling out the dough on the work surface, Angelina’s hands slightly shook. She hadn’t done this in so long that long vanished insecurity had returned to her fingers. She still wasn’t sure if she should be doing this, if she was already ready to bake something again, to pick up an activity again which she used to do with her late sister. But when Ciel had mentioned in a whisper yesterday that tomorrow was “Lemon Meringue Pie Day” Angelina had been determined to make him such a pie. Right before going to bed yesterday, Angelina had told Sebastian that _she_ would be the one baking the pie – not he as the magnificent butler had also caught Ciel’s broad hint. After a short argument, Sebastian had nodded and retreated. And for half the night, Angelina had laid awake in her bed, her body filled with the excitement of standing in the kitchen again.

Angelina put the rolled-out dough into a flan tin, tucked in the corners, covered it in cling film, and put it into the refrigerator.

Just like his mother, Ciel was very versed when it came to cake and pie related little holidays. Lemon Meringue Pie Day used to be one of the days when the Dalles sisters came together and bake. Angelina couldn’t believe it that she had almost forgotten this special day, and she blinked away tears while mixing the lemon juice and zest with flour for the pie’s filling.

Two years. She had baked her last lemon meringue pie two years ago – it wasn’t so far back in the past, but felt like an eternity had passed since then.

Angelina was using the same recipe she had used back then.

With her sister.

With her…

“Annie, why are you continuing to stir the paste? It is already smooth enough.”

Angelina abruptly let go of her whisk and turned around – seeing Rachel chuckling at her before she blinked and the image was gone.

_An echo of memory. It was nothing more but an old memory’s echo._

_After all, that’s what Rachel told me two years ago when we stood together in this kitchen._

_Together…_

Angelina took a few deep breaths before finishing the lemon filling and taking the flan tin out of the refrigerator.

 

 

***

 

 

Angelina heard the opening of the front door the moment her egg timer rang. She had stared at the pie in the fifteen minutes it had to take its final round of baking so that she was sure not to accidentally burn it. Now, a sigh left her mouth as she took the cake out of the oven and it looked like one of those fancily prepared lemon meringue pies seen in cook books.

_Hopefully, it tastes as well as it looks._

Angelina put the cake on the working place to cool down and hurried to the entrance hall.

“Welcome, Ciel, McMillan!” she exclaimed with a smile on her face before she went to hug Ciel. “How was the agency work?” Angelina asked while Ciel gasped for breath. “Air, Aunt Anne! Air!”

She let go of him, and he adjusted his clothes, scowling at her.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Dalles,” McMillan greeted her, showing his adorable tooth gap while smiling. He was cute but in a different way than Ciel. McMillan had messy brown hair, freckles, and big, shining eyes behind round glasses, and Ciel had big blue eyes and the endearing, soft face of his mother.

 _The face of his mother…_ , Angelina thought, and she slightly shook her head to push away the coldness filling her body at this thought.

_I am seeing ghosts at every corner._

“Lost keys found in pockets,” Ciel suddenly said. “Arguments over stolen and eaten gummy bears. An exam counterfeiting ring. Nothing out of the usual, Aunt Anne.”

“Oh, I see,” she replied before turning to Sebastian and clearing her throat. “Could you lead them to the parlour?”

“Of course, Baroness,” Sebastian said, briefly bowing. “And should I prepare some tea to go with your pie?”

“That would be lovely,” said Angelina, and they both exchanged polite nods before they headed to different directions.

She liked Sebastian, was thankful for everything he did for Ciel. But just like she never dared to ask Ciel what happened on the day of the fire, where he was in that dreaded month, she never got herself to raise the question where Ciel had found a butler resembling Vincent so much – a circumstance which often left Angelina with goose bumps.

Of course, Angelina had never asked Ciel about anything from that time – years had passed, time had gone on but the wounds the incidents had left on them were still fresh and bleeding.

Ciel was still traumatised, was still confused, still bringing order into this mess. Asking him could make it worse. Asking him could trigger something in him. Asking him could upset him, could make him feel constrained.

That’s what Angelina had been telling herself for one year and a half now.

That not asking was for the best.

That it was better to wait for Ciel to be ready to tell the story when he felt the time was right.

But, perhaps – perhaps, Angelina was just afraid to face the truth.

 

 

***

 

 

Carefully, Angelina carried her pie to the drawing room. Sebastian had come and prepared the tea and returned to the drawing room – he was so fast, and she so incredibly slow and the cake hadn’t cooled as quickly as she had wanted it to be.

Sebastian opened the door for her, and she looked into the drawing room – and for a split second, it was August 2013 again, and she entered Phantomhive Manor’s beautiful, illuminated parlour with her sister and was greeted by the smiles of her loved ones. But when she stepped over the doorsill, the memory faded away and revealed the sparsely lit parlour with only Ciel and McMillan inside.

So much had come and gone because, with time, old things were replaced with new ones but that didn’t mean what was old was gone forever. Now, Angelina loved Ciel, her last relative, and all his servants, no matter how odd they were, no matter how annoying, and McMillan for making Ciel belong to more than to the Phantomhives, to the Watchdogs.

But that didn’t mean that she had forgotten, had stopped to love those she had lost in the flames. Those she had lost in all those terrible accidents, incidents.

With a faint smile on her face, Angelina approached the large table in the drawing room and put the cake on it. “Guess what, Ciel! I have a lemon meringue pie on Lemon Meringue Pie Day!”

Ciel stared at the cake – and those who remotely knew him would think when seeing him now, that he was only staring at it because he loved cake so much, but Angelina knew better.

_He is thinking of two years ago. He is thinking of happier times when we were not so alone._

Angelina’s smile widened. “See? You always complain that I don’t listen to you but I’ve listened when you whispered that today was Pie Day.”

“You baked this, Doctor Dalles?” McMillan said, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

_He didn’t ask “Did you bake this?” even though I could have ordered Sebastian or my own cook to bake it. He…_

Angelina pushed the thought away and nodded, still smiling. “Of course, I did.”

“May I?” Sebastian said, suddenly appearing behind them, bringing plates and forks, a knife and a cake lifter with him. The teapot and cups he had carried into the parlour earlier had already been placed on the table.

Angelina sat down, and she, McMillan, and Ciel watched Sebastian skilfully distributing the plates and forks before elegantly cutting the lemon pie into even slices and lifting three on each of their plates.

“To go with Madame Red’s lemon meringue pie, together with my mentor, I have chosen Hōjicha, a Japanese green tea type,” Sebastian announced, pouring them all a cup of tea.

Angelina picked up her fork but didn’t let it sink into her slice. Instead, she looked up and watched Ciel putting a piece of cake into his mouth.

His face which had been slightly tense before relaxed. “It is… it is good,” Ciel said in a low voice before continuing to eat, and McMillan nodded at his friend’s statement. Angelina smiled weakly before she tasted the pie herself – and it was good. The filling was soft and creamy, the dough was crispy, and the sweet meringue perfectly balanced out the sourness of the lemon juice.

They ate in silence. McMillan was usually very talkative – and Angelina was glad that he had realised that today held a special place in Ciel’s and her heart, and ate and didn’t talk, letting them be, letting them dwell in memories with every bite. Letting them mourn while remembering all lost and all gained.

Ciel was the first to finish his slice. He put his fork down and said without thinking, “The cake was wonderful. Thanks, Mum.” McMillan looked up, his eyes widened in confusion and surprise. Only a second later, Ciel himself realised what he had said. He gazed at Angelina – and she stared at him.

Then, she burst out into laughter.

She saw Sebastian softly chuckling in his corner and McMillan suppressing a silly grin and giggle – and, most importantly, Angelina saw Ciel’s cheeks turning red in embarrassment.

From one moment to the other, the atmosphere in the parlour had completely changed – from silent and sad to loud and joyful.

And now, McMillan didn’t stifle his laughter anymore and joined Angelina. Even Ciel chuckled a bit.

It was such a wonderful, refreshing moment tearing through Angelina’s inner pain and sadness – it felt like the sunlight, the warmth from outside fighting its way through the curtains and lighting up the room in gold and comfort.

It made her forget her thoughts from before; it filled her with bliss; it kissed her with warmth and gave her hope for all the days and years to come.

Angelina stopped laughing and watched McMillan teasing Ciel over his blooper, heard Sebastian making a snarky remark about it to his master. Both of them received scowls in return – and Angelina noticed in this very moment that while Ciel was still hesitant and careful, was still keeping himself on distance, he had found a place where he could belong even if he didn’t know about it himself. A place among his household as the head, a place among his schoolmates as the agency’s detective and McMillan’s friend.

And Angelina – Angelina had tried and tried, had smiled and laughed: But where was her place to belong? She had forced herself for so long, she had forgotten to find a place just the way she was.

_But why could I feel the warmth on my skin but not inside of me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lemon meringue pie recipe I’ve used as reference can be found here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/marys_lemon_meringue_pie_02330


End file.
